


Mindless Trinket

by TheCriminal



Series: Howl for Your Kingdom [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Deception, F/M, Hurt Stiles, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Prostitution, Scarred Stiles, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:03:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 66,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1520105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCriminal/pseuds/TheCriminal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kingdom of Beacon is separated into the three Circles; The First Circle is the stronghold of the Court; the Second holds the key to trade and business among the majority of its people; the Third holds the dredges of humanity, barely able to live on the rationing during the war against the Argent armies. Stiles does what he must to survive and protect his loved ones, which begs the question: How much could the life of a whore be worth?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've probably forgot a lot of things in tags. It's really hard to tag things when you haven't finished it. And I might change the rating later. I don't know, we'll see.  
> Cheers jess for proofing.

It was so easy for Stiles to hate his mother, even at such a young age. He still remembers how confused he was, at five years old, when the man she was talking to the day before came into their home and dropped a purse into her hands, before she came over to Stiles and pressed her necklace into his tiny hand, telling him not to lose it, when the man put his bony hand on Stiles’ shoulder and lead him down to the carriage which took him away from his home.

He was fourteen now, and he hadn't lost the trinket. Even with his hatred.

Because it was the only thing he had left from his childhood.

It was the pendent that kept him grounded as he let the men fuck him raw, ass or mouth, whichever they preferred. Sometimes even both. He let the pendent consume his hatred, cursing his mother for the life she stole from him. He hated Harris more than his mother, more than the fucking heirloom, for convincing her that selling him to her was her best decision to stay alive in the winter. Two mouths to feed were harder than one, after all.

Stiles was nothing more than a whore, and he thrived in the environment. He learnt how to deceive with his words, and how to seduce with his body. He learnt sleight of hand, and he learn how to kill. His first kill came when he was seven, when he spiked the man’s wine with the powder given to him by Tara, the woman who protected the children for as long as she could. Harris was determined for Stiles to work though, so he took him. Stiles’ act of self-defence resulted in Tara's death. Since that day, Stiles had rules about the people who paid. And Stiles followed them, or else he would be flayed. Since that day he protected the other children. 

And Harris let him.

Stiles could only wish that he intimidated Harris, except that wasn’t possible when Harris was in control of Stiles’ body. He’d feared him since he was first sold to him, and that fear hadn't disappeared after nine years in the house, only evolved into loathing and pity to accompany the terror. He considered himself lucky that Harris was fool enough to think that one of the Ladies of the court wanted him. It was the only thing that kept him out of the beds of his property.

“Stiles, I can here you thinking,” Erica whispered, and Stiles turned over and smiled at his friend.

“I’m just wondering how long it will take for Harris to come to his senses about that woman in court.”

Erica giggled. She was only a year younger than him, but Harris took her in after her family wanted to burn her at a pyre for practicing witchcraft. They’d been best friends the day she’d arrived seven years ago. She had looked at scared as Stiles felt, and he’d seen her body lose control in the way she feared more than once. It was frightening when it happened, even now, but he’d learnt how to help her.

“It’s taken twenty years for him to dance with her,” she smiled through the darkness of the night.

“I’ve heard it was twenty seven.”

They stared at each other before trying to contain their laughter, not wanting to wake the others. Erica rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “Do you ever think we’ll get out of here?”

Stiles was silent.

“Stiles?”

“I– I don’t know, Erica. I hope so.”

They talked about this nearly every month. One of them would ask if they would ever get out of the brothel, and the other would say they didn’t know. They’d say they’d hope so, and the other would ask what they would do, or where they would go. The answer would still be that they didn’t know. Stiles thought tonight would go the same as always, but she surprised him.

“What about Deaton?” She asked.

Stiles was speechless, because he was actively afraid of Deaton. Deaton was one of Stiles’ most generous customers, because he paid for more than what Stiles was worth to Harris. He told Stiles to keep the extra, and Stiles was afraid that it meant one day he would make Stiles do something he promised they never would. 

He was afraid Deaton would ask him for sex.

Deaton was a good man, far better than anyone Stiles had yet encountered. Stiles, as a seven year old boy, had sat crying on the sidewalk when Deaton found him. He told him to come with him, and Stiles said he couldn’t unless Deaton paid him. Deaton looked at the crying child that was Stiles, and Stiles can still remember the sad smile on his face as he pulled out his purse and passed over two gold coins to one of the older whores, and he took Stiles’ hand and led him to the stables of his house. He taught Stiles how to read, how to write, addition and subtraction, multiplication and division, how the seasons changed and how that affected the food that Stiles was given.

Most of all, he taught him kindness for those who did not deserve it. Stiles didn’t think he deserved Deaton’s kindness, not when Stiles knew that he was filth.

Stiles taught the others the things that Deaton taught him, but he could only do it when Harris wasn’t around. He would be beaten if he was learning, because Harris needed Stiles. Stiles knew he did, so Sties bided his time until Harris was away, where he taught them everything he had learnt. Erica was the only one that had the same level of Stiles’ teachings, because he was always with her when they weren’t selling themselves for Harris. He taught her everything he could, because somehow Deaton believed they were more than whores.

“Don’t be stupid, Erica.”

“Why not? You could sell your necklace and we could probably make enough from it to get inside the main gate–”

“Erica, I said _don’t be stupid_.”

His tone was final, and she glared at him before she rolled over and refused to acknowledge him. Stiles exhaled quietly and whispered, “ _I’m sorry._ ”

She sighed and turned back over, knowing that they were stupid for even thinking of trying to run away, especially during the time of war. He fell asleep with Erica holding him close, her arms keeping him grounded as his thoughts tried to run wild. They had kept each other’s nightmares at bay for what felt like forever.

 

 

The war had been going on for years, longer than Stiles could remember. Deaton had taught him that it had started twelve summers ago, when he was two years old. Even the King was fighting in the war, with many of the other great and notable families that inhabited the court. Not that Stiles cared about it.

Except Deaton insisted he learnt about them, because it would come in handy one day.

“Why, so I know which Lord I’m being fucked by?” Stiles scoffed.

He earned a scuff over the head for that, and was made to clean out the stables.

“Stiles, you can’t reduce yourself to being a whore,” Deaton said when he was done.

“Why not?” He protested. “It’s what I am. Nothing’s going to change that, even when I come of age. I’ll still be the boy whore with the gold eyes and the fuckable mouth.”

“Stiles–”

“No, Deaton! I don’t understand why you’re doing _this_!” Stiles gestured wildly. “What could you possibly gain from it?!”

When Stiles didn’t say any more, Deaton was kneeling in front of him before he spoke softly. “Stiles, I’m doing this because I don’t want you to waste your life in a brothel. I know you teach the others, and that’s a great thing. I don’t have anything to gain from it, which is the entire point. I want _you_ to gain from it. You could own an Inn one day Stiles, and you could be safe from Harris. Once you come of age, there is nothing he can do to keep you in that place. Even if he says otherwise.”

Stiles let the words go through his mind, and the idea of being safe from Harris appealed to him more than anything. “What about Erica?”

“I know for a fact that Harris didn’t buy her, so she’s free to leave whenever she wants. The only reason she stays is because she has a roof over her head and food to eat. If you left, I’m sure she’d follow.”

Stiles let himself smile, and he picked up the book he had thrown down in his anger. The page they were previously on fell open, the crest of the golden rose in a circle of thorns standing out against the rest of the page.

 

 

“–And he said that the Royal family emblem signifies the tie that they have with the wolves.”

“Isn’t that just foolish bedtime stories, that they can converse with wolves?” One of the older girls called out.

Stiles shrugged. “He seems to think that they actually can. Apparently each one of them has a wolf pet.”

That caused murmurs throughout them. “What about the other one, Stiles? You said it was your favourite one!”

Stiles smiled at the younger kids that were sitting closest to him. “He said that this is one of the only families to join houses, not just marry their daughter off into a beneficial arrangement. They married for love, and the Golden Rose represents the beauty of their bond, while the thorns show how dangerous they can be if anyone they love is threatened.”

He was about to continue, when there was a shout from the corridor. Harris was coming, and they had no time to make it seem like they were doing chores. He shoved his drawings under his pillow, and he was just about to grab Erica’s hand when there was a cry of pain from one of the younger kids. Stiles turned around and Harris was there, with the boy’s hand in his, and he was twisting it.

“Stop it, Harris” Stiles said, moving towards him.

Harris smiled and he shoved the boy away. “Tell me who it is and no one else has to get hurt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied.

His heart beat faster as Harris nodded at someone behind him, and then one of the older girls had grabbed Erica by her hair. “Want to try that again, boy?”

Stiles glared at him, and he repeated “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It wasn’t the first time that Harris had caught him teaching the others, but he never had the evidence to actually stop Stiles from doing it. He didn’t know who was teaching Stiles, and he couldn’t stop Stiles from taking people’s money in exchange for a quick fuck.

Harris sighed, and he pointed at the girl holding Erica and he pointed over his shoulder. And Stiles couldn’t help it, he took the bait like he knew he would. “It was me. I– I found a book on the street. That’s all, I swear by the gods. Both the old and the new.”

And Harris grabbed Stiles, like he always did, digging his thin fingers into his shoulder as he led him towards the whipping pole. It was in the middle of the street, in view for everyone to see. Harris and the more loyal whores call out to the people. Soon enough a crowd had gathered around, eager for the entertainment of a public beating. His hands were tied behind the pole with a leather belt, and he wanted to laugh. He almost did, a couple of times. But he’d learnt that laughing only made it worse.

No one cared that it wasn’t ordered by the Crown. The Crown was at war, and Queen Talia didn’t stand for that kind of punishment. So people made do with their own rules in the lower Circle. That was another reason why Stiles hated the nobility. With all their power, and all their fancy clothes, and all their abilities to talk to wolves, they didn’t lift a finger to help out people like Stiles. Because the rich cared about the rich, and the poor didn't care about the poor.

Stiles was on his own level in society.

He was the famous boy-whore with the golden eyes.

The only reason they didn’t whip him was because they wanted him pretty for the nobles. So everyone enjoyed it much more when he was bruised and bleeding. They didn’t care that he wouldn’t be able to work until his face had healed enough, because they only wanted entertainment. So when Harris’ fist connected with his face, Stiles stopped himself from thinking. It was easier not to distract himself, to just let the pain crash over his body.

Harris stopped after the usual amount of punches, and then he let the rest of the crowd have their go at him. Stiles refused to look over to Erica; he knew she would be crying and pleading them to stop.

Instead, he just looked over the crowd, to find any familiar faces he saw. There were the lowly, unimportant knights on guard who stood there and watched, enjoying the display which made their time in the lower dregs of society almost worth it – but only almost. There was the man that Harris had bought the meat off, and there was the baker whose bread tasted like shit and felt like rocks.

And that’s when Stiles saw the glisten of dark skin under the sunlight, and he stared at Deaton while a fist made its way into his stomach. He spat out blood and Deaton shook his head. Stiles knew what he was thinking.

_Stiles, I told you not to antagonise him. Leave the teaching until you’re certain you won’t be betrayed._

Stiles gave him a look that said _it was me or Erica. And I’m not letting them get Erica_.

He could see Deaton sigh as he turned around and walked back to his house. He never stayed the entire time anyway. Just enough to make sure Harris knew that he’d seen his favourite toy get beaten up, then go back home to his wife.

 

 

Stiles doesn’t remember how long he was at the pole for. He doesn’t even remember being carried back to his bed. But when he opens his eyes, Erica is leaning over him, pressing a damp cloth to his forehead. He ached all over, and knows he should be able to feel the dried blood and crusty dirt on his broken body, but he couldn’t. He groans and Erica sighs. “That was stupid, Stiles.”

Stiles wanted to laugh, and he tried, but it hurt too much. He realised he was naked, not like it was a surprise, but when he looked down and saw the amount of bruises all over his body, he understood why. They’d really gone all out on him this time. His throat was raspy and dry, when she pressed a bowl of water to his mouth. He drank almost the whole bowl, and the parched feeling in his throat disappeared.

“What did he tell them I’d done this time?”

Erica frowned, and she lay down next to Stiles, taking his hand in hers. “He told them you’d been caught stealing food.”

Food. Of course it was food. Harris had no imagination. “You’d think he’d come up with a better excuse than that.”

“If he said you’d been caught stealing coin from him, I think they would try and get you to teach them,” Erica grinned.

Stiles smiled at that, because Harris still had no idea about the extra money Stiles was bringing in. Only Erica knew. He kept it buried under the roots of one of the old trees that he and Erica frequented when they were allowed outside. Stiles didn’t even try to touch the bag, because he knew that someone was always watching him. That was how much Harris hated him.

Instead, he left the money in bag at Deaton’s, and Deaton would put it under the tree for them.

Stiles was clever, so he kept note of which buttons to press with each person he served. He was so good at it that the especially generous Sers would pay him extra, telling Stiles that it could be “ _their little secret.”_

He let them think that he was buying extra trinkets with it, because many of them seemed to think that Stiles liked to be pretty. They were right of course; he made his name off of being pretty, except he didn’t tell them that he thought they were morons for thinking that his hard earned coin was going towards a length of chain to go around his neck. He wasn’t going to buy fabric; Harris always supplied Stiles with a wardrobe, so it didn’t matter what he chose to wear, as long as it was appealing.

And tricking all of them was worth any beating he would receive.

 

 

Stiles hated the day the war ended. There were horses and parades coming through town, and his excitement to see the banners being raised slowly died down when Harris called him and Erica in from the streets. The lesser of the families came first; their banners held high as they marched through the dirt of Stiles’ home road. It slowly led to the higher class families, and he knew that the royal family’s Wolf crest would be soon. But that was when he felt Harris grab him by the back of the neck and Stiles thanked the gods that Harris caused Stiles to shave off the majority of his hair. It made him look younger, but it also meant that no one could grab it and drag him. Harris had a tight grip though, and often Stiles had bruises from when the older man was particularly violent towards him.

He didn’t even get to see the Rose banner.

The rest of the week was spent with cocks in his ass, because those _poor_ , poor knights who had come back from the war hadn’t had any time for pleasure. It was easier not to think when they thrust themselves into him, easier not to listen as they groaned when he did his job. He responded as he was taught to no matter the situation, moaning when they touched him, even if he didn’t like it, humming around their dick in his mouth, even if he wanted to gag when they shoved it down his throat too much. A lot of the time they turned violent, pinning him under them and going for it, because who wanted to be gentle after that much death? They had money, and that was all that mattered.

He had a lot of bruises that week.

 

 

“I can’t continue our lessons anymore, Stiles.”

Stiles looked up from the book on plants he was reading. Deaton looked disappointed, and Stiles’ heart clenched. “What’s changed?”

“I’ve been summoned to the Citadel by the Queen–”

“So you’re abandoning me for a bunch of arrogant, fat assholes who can’t tie their own laces?” Stiles spat out.

Deaton paused, and Stiles knew he’d gone too far. He knew how Deaton felt about the nobility. He adored them, and Stiles was cruel to say what he did. But he felt angrier than he’d ever been before.

“The Queen has summoned me because her husband has returned from the war, and it is my duty to serve her. The King and the Prince are ill.”

Stiles clenched his teeth, and he couldn’t see anything but sadness in Deaton’s eyes.  “Why not get one of the healers to help them rather than you?”

“I’m a specialist, Stiles. You don’t understand how dangerous that life is. I lived here so my family could go unharmed during the war. The war is over” Deaton sighed.

Stiles said nothing, and it all made sense why Deaton stiffened every time he made a comment on those who lived at court. It explained why he clenched his fist when Stiles remarked on the way they didn’t use their dicks very well. It explained why he had so much coin to give away. It explained why he never bedded Stiles.

Stiles wanted to vomit.

He pushed himself away from the table, and he could feel his breathing get shallower as he tried to get out of the small space.

He could hear Deaton following him, and he knew the quickest way to escape was to make a scene. Deaton hated scenes.

“Stay away from me!” He shouted, his chest growing tight as he made each step back towards the brothel.

“Stiles–”

“No! If I see you again, I’ll slit your throat” he yelled. Deaton stopped, and he stared at Stiles like he didn’t know if he was lying or not.

 Stiles didn’t know if he was lying either. He felt like he was dirty, like he was used. It was expected of him to feel like that as a whore, but he never thought he’d feel like that over a man telling him he was leaving.

He was a pity case from a noble, nothing more.

Stiles turned and made his way home with tight lungs. When Erica found him curled up and gasping for air in one of the empty rooms, she sat across from him and started counting. He started breathing again, but he felt hollow.

Deaton was leaving.

They wouldn’t be getting out for a long time coming.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this wouldve been up sooner if i wasnt so busy with moping after getting wisdom teeth out and work and uni but what can you do right?

Stiles was standing in the line with Erica, waiting for the man to choose. When he stopped in front of Erica, Stiles felt himself stiffen. He was never used to watching the blankness in her eyes as she smiled at them, and he would go to the ends of the earth if it meant she wouldn’t have to do these things. He would be turning sixteen in five months. He wasn’t sure if he was glad or not, because he could leave if he wanted. Stiles could give up the life he hated, and start somewhere else. He would lose the roof over his head and the food he worked for, but he wouldn’t have to live like a slave. He had thought for a long time that being a slave would be easier than being a whore.

He knew Erica thought so too.

She was always begging for Stiles to leave early, but he couldn’t, and she knew why. Harris would come after him because he was still his property, his child that he bought with his pathetic coin. Stiles was so tempted to just pick up the money under the tree and shove it at Harris, but they needed everything they could get their hands on if they were to make it inside the main gate. Harris would lose them forever if they made it past the guards.

Stiles kept his gaze forward as the man’s hand trailed down Erica’s back and lower before the man nodded at Harris. Stiles felt himself cringe at the way Erica took the man’s hand and led him towards one of the rooms, her voice beckoning him forward with her, when one of the girls walked in and bowed to Harris. Stiles still refused to bow.

Another man walked through the doorway and he was taller than Harris, and he looked stronger than him too. Harris smiled, and showed him to the line that was already waiting. The man’s gaze flitted over each one of the girls, and he paused at one of the young boys. Stiles loathed the men and women that hesitated on the younger children. They had no right to be touching them, not when they were so young.

But his gaze kept going, and when they fell on Stiles as he knew it would be him. He still maintained a boyish body, and until he matured into a man he would be kept in the Third Circle. If he wanted, someone like Stiles could be in one of the brothels near the main keep when he came of age. That was how all of Harris’ customers could get their kicks for their preferences without being seen by people of higher importance, by coming into the lowest Circle. “How old are you?”

 _Always downplay the age; otherwise that haircut is for nothing while you still look like that_. “Thirteen summers.”

The man made a face, and Harris glared at Stiles. He was supposed to call them ‘Ser’ or ‘my Lord’ before they had chosen, but this man didn’t indicate either standing. Stiles wasn’t going to waste titles on a man who they didn’t belong to. “This one will do.”

Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes, but he took the man’s hand and led him towards one of the private rooms. As soon as the door was closed, he lead the man to one of the chairs and sat him down. “Wine, mi’ lord?”

_Always play up the fact you’re expected to be uneducated._

The man nodded and when Stiles turned towards the table he felt the man’s hand brush over his ass. He closed his eyes as he grabbed the wine, and he poured it with an internal sigh. The bag of money on the man’s belt was larger than expected, so Stiles would have to be careful if he wanted to slip himself some extra. These sorts of men always watched their purse.

He turned around with a smile on his face as he lifted the goblet to his lips and took a sip before he passed the cup to the man. The man had a look in his eyes that Stiles didn’t like, and Stiles knew that look, it was a look that meant Harris would be getting some extra money than usual, because that’s when Stiles saw the lengths of rope on the table. And it wasn’t like Stiles minded being tied up, except looking at the man now, Stiles knew he would be the cruel type, the kind of man who wouldn’t let Stiles enjoy his job. That for Stiles, there would be more pain than pleasure. He looked unpleasant and unforgiving; Stiles felt his skin crawl and wanted nothing more than to be elsewhere.

When the man put the goblet down, Stiles reached for the man’s face and hesitantly pressed his lips against the older man’s. _They like it if they seem like they’re your first._ The man grabbed the back of his head and kissed Stiles forcefully, and Stiles pretended to be shocked before he kissed him back. His mouth tasted like ash and wine, like he’d been smoking. Stiles tried not to cough when he withdrew, and he could feel the man’s urgency as he tried to push Stiles down towards his crotch.

“How do you feel about being tied up, boy?”

“I’ve never been tied up before,” Stiles lied, untying the front of his pants.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Stiles fought the urge to wince at his tone when he kneeled in front of the man’s spread legs.

It was just like clockwork.

 

 

The man’s travelling hands were one of the worst things about being tied up. He couldn’t push them away after the man had gotten his kicks. He smeared Stiles’ come over his chest and Stiles fought the urge to make a comment about the wet cloth by the drawer. _You’re not here to talk, Stiles_.

But then the man got up and walked over towards the table, leaving Stiles naked on the bed. Stiles felt a rush of fear when the man grabbed his knife off of the surface and walked back towards Stiles, but then he cut the ropes binding him and Stiles closed his eyes in relief. His feet were free first, then his hands. Stiles sat up and rubbed at the raw skin; the bindings were tighter than Stiles usually preferred.

He hadn’t had a chance to steal any extra coin, and there was no way he could do that with the man counting out the money on the table.

He was cleaning himself with the damp cloth when he saw the man pause. “What is it, mi’ lord?”

The man didn’t answer him, but he reached over the table and held up Stiles’ necklace. Stiles didn’t react like he wanted to, and what he wanted to was by break the man’s hand for touching his mother’s necklace.

“This is a beautiful necklace.”

“Thank you, mi’ lord–”

“Who did you steal it from?”

The words crashed like a wave over Stiles’ head, and he stared at the hand around his necklace. When Stiles spoke he dropped the entire pretense in his voice, letting his words form in its normal strength and timbre.

“I didn’t.”

The man scoffed as he inspected it closer, and Stiles pulled on his pants as quickly as he could without raising suspicion. Stiles watched as he finished counting out money, but he didn’t move any closer to him after pulling on his shirt. He fought to stay calm as the man closed his purse. The gold coins shone against the sunlight, except Stiles couldn’t care less about the coins, not when the man still had his disgusting fat fingers around his necklace.

When the man started walking towards the door, Stiles knew his feet were moving, and he didn’t feel like he could stop himself. “Please Ser, give me my necklace back.”

The man looked at Stiles like he hated him, and he shook his head. “I’m sure you have others.”

“I don’t Ser. That’s the only thing I have worth any value to me.”

“How much do you want for it?”

Stiles frowned as the man opened his purse and grabbed a handful of coins, throwing them on the ground by Stiles’ feet. “Is this enough for a stupid necklace?”

Stiles shook his head. He couldn’t do it; he couldn’t sell his bitch mother’s necklace, no matter how much he reviled her. It was the only thing he had that reminded him he wasn’t always a whore. Stiles watched as the stranger’s face lost what little restraint he had left, pulling out his knife from before. “Your life isn’t worth as much to me as this necklace is. You’re just a child.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d been on the end of a blade, but this time was different. He wasn’t going to be stolen from, not this time. This was different than a loaf of bread or a bag of gold.

He reached down into his pocket and pulled out the device Deaton gave him when he was nine; a dagger which could hide itself in its handle until he pressed on the small switch in the wood. He told Stiles it was for protection, and he wouldn’t be hurt by it if he kept it in his pocket. Even after Deaton had left, he’d always kept it in his pocket. Stiles let the blade out of its handle, and the man’s face was drawn to it. “You’re really going to threaten me, _boy_?”

“If you don’t give me my necklace back, then yes.”

It was only a small knife, smaller than the dagger that the other man wielded, but he was experienced _enough_ for it not to matter. The man didn’t even hesitate, didn’t even consider giving Stiles back his necklace, he just lunged.

Stiles dodged it easily, tuning out the rest of his thoughts easily and the man stared at him in surprise when Stiles forced his blade through the soft skin of the man’s neck. The man’s life left his eyes as the knife forced its way through his throat, and it was over in a matter of seconds before Stiles realised what he’d just done. He'd killed a customer, a rich man. He could feel the blood covering his hands, running down them and beaming like the rubies that Harris had on one of his belts. He didn’t know what to do, but he couldn’t stay. Harris would surely kill him after this, boy whore or not.

His legs carried him over to the bowl of water that was stationed for clean-up, and he scrubbed his hands and his knife as quickly as he could. He was about to open the door when he remembered his mother’s necklace. He plucked it out of the dead man’s grip and he put it around his neck before he left the room. Stiles made sure to lock the door behind him as he let his legs carry him away from the scene.

He felt manic as he walked through the house, trying not to draw attention to himself. The fact that he had boots on felt like the most incriminating piece of information as he looked for Erica. She was sitting by the fountain and when she saw Stiles coming towards her she looked up at him with a usual smile that was reserved for after they both finished a job. It faltered quickly though, as she took in his blank expression and terror-filled eyes.  

She didn’t have to ask to know if something was wrong. Stiles was glad for that, because he didn’t think he could trust his voice at the moment. He grabbed her hand when he reached her and she followed him without a word. They were out of the house and onto the street in a matter of minutes, but Stiles hesitated when the sunlight hit his eyes because he didn’t know where to go.

Luckily he didn’t have to know, because when he stopped Erica took control and lead him through the streets and into the once familiar study in Deaton’s old house. It was empty after Deaton had left, and it had remained that way. People were afraid of Deaton’s calm approach to life, and Stiles had never been more grateful to the man he wished he could hate more than he already did.

“Stiles, what is it?”

He felt like the blood was still running down his hands when he looked back up at her. “I– I killed someone, Erica.” Erica didn’t say anything; she just sat in the chair opposite Stiles and took his hands in hers. She knew that Harris hadn’t let Stiles go unpunished the first time, so why should this time be any different? “He’s going to kill me.”

“Harris isn’t going to kill you, Stiles. You’re too valuable for him to kill.”

He shook his head. “I don’t even know why I did it– he tried to take my necklace and I could’ve sold it to him, but I just– I couldn’t.”

“Stiles, you didn’t have to sell it to him. The fact that he tried to steal it from you is bad enough, but I know you wouldn’t have killed him if you didn’t have a choice.”

Stiles wanted to shout at her for being so calm.

He knows she saw the look on his face that said it too, and she sighed. “Did he have a knife?”

Stiles nodded.

“Then you acted in self-defence. If he wanted that necklace so badly he would have killed you for it, and I’m not going to weep tears for a dead man who tried to kill my brother.”

Stiles felt himself smile against his better judgement, but it wasn’t enough to stop worrying about Harris coming after him.

 

 

They couldn’t go back to the tree, not until there was some sign that they were free from Harris.

They had stayed at Deaton’s abandoned house for a week before they were found. The door was kicked down and Stiles was dragged out of bed alongside Erica, who didn’t even shout as they pulled at her hair. Stiles saw the furious look on Harris’ face and he knew he was done for. He thought they would have the grace to be taken back to the house before he was beaten, but he was wrong.

He was being dragged to the whipping pole. _It won’t be so bad_ , he tried to reason.

But when he saw someone holding the lash he struggled to fight against the hands holding him, but they were too tight against his thin arms.

Harris dragged him up the wooden stairs and for the first time ever, he was facing the pole and his hands were tied in front of his body. There was nothing he could do that would stop this from happening, no apology that could make it right.

Harris’ voice was like venom in his ear. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’d do it again if he tried what he did.”

“You had such potential,” Harris sneered at him before he addressed the crowd. “This boy has killed a respectable businessman and he ran from his home and his crimes. He has lied to us countless times, and he has stolen from me and mine. If anyone of class or prominence is with us now, step forward and claim him as yours and he will be spared.”

Stiles wanted to laugh, because that would’ve have only worked when he was fourteen. Harris knew it too, because Deaton would have come to defend him if there was a whip involved. But he deserted him, and Stiles chose to hate the man just as much as his mother.

There was shouting coming from the brothel as well as the sound of Erica crying, pleading for them to stop, was loud and too much to stomach when he thought about all the things he’d had to do, all because Harris had been paid for him to let it happen to Stiles.

He could hear shouts of pleading for Harris and when Stiles looked he saw all of them; each and every whore he called family, even the ones who couldn’t stand him and he couldn’t stand in return. They were holding the younger ones back and Stiles knew that he wasn’t coming back. Because it was a lesson for them as much as it was for him.

_Do as you’re told, or else you’ll end up like Stiles._

There would be no prospects for him when it was done. He would have nowhere to go and no one would hire someone like them, not in the Third Circle. The only hope that Stiles held on to was the hope that he wouldn’t die afterwards, because he and Erica had something that no one else before them had; they had money and they had each other. Harris let the crowd’s silence speak for him as he looked back at Stiles. “Do you have anything you want to tell us?”

He smiled at Harris and shook his head, and Stiles knew that pissed him off even more. Harris always wanted the last word over Stiles, and now Stiles wasn’t giving him the opportunity to say anything to him.

Harris stepped off of the platform, and then he heard Harris tell them to use the other whip. Stiles’ smile faltered because he’d seen what the other whip could do. He wouldn’t look away from Erica, because she was the only person that was possible at keeping him from begging.

He knew that the look on her face meant that they’d gotten out the other whip ready.

The first time he had seen it, it looked like a monster to his eight year old self. Stiles was sure that it hadn’t changed; it had multiple leather band lengths attached to the handle, and each one of them had pieces of bone tied to the ends. It had featured several times in his nightmares when he was young after he’d seen it used.

Stiles watched Harris walk over to Erica and linger as he looked back over to Stiles. She was trying to look away and Stiles understood why, because they could barely watch this happen on someone they didn’t know. But they were close enough to be brother and sister, and this wasn’t going to be easy for her to witness. It would be the same if Erica was in Stiles’ place. When Harris grabbed her chin and forced her to look at Stiles, Stiles couldn’t wait any longer.

_“Get on with it!”_

There was a pause in the crowd’s growing anticipation, and Stiles felt like this was the first time they were actually looking at him. His voice had been louder than he’d ever yelled before, and even _he_ was surprised by his own voice. For that he could only feel relief. The sooner they were done with him, the sooner they could leave.

The first stroke came with searing pain as he tried not to cry out against it.

But he couldn’t help the screams, when the pain was too much for him to handle as the whip cracked for the second time. The tears ran down his face easily but Stiles considered that at least he was lucky enough for Harris to bind his hands above his head. It was the only thing protecting his face from the multiple arms of the whip. He was thankful for that small mercy.

Each crack of the whip was worse than the one before it, and it wasn’t long before his shirt, as well as his back, was torn to ribbons. He could feel the leather as it snapped and cut his skin; the tugging and tearing of the bones that had embedded themselves into his body.

Stiles doesn’t know when he blacked out.

 

 

His face was pressed against a bed softer than he remembers, but that thought was distracted by the throbbing agony that quickly overtook him. Stiles cried out and suddenly Erica was in his sight, clutching his hand. “It’s okay, Stiles, you’re okay.”

He didn’t feel okay.

His back felt like it was on fire.

He could feel each laceration, each split in his skin.

“I did what I could from what you taught me,” Erica said sadly. “I boiled the water and rags before I wrapped them. I’m just letting them air right now. I don't... I don't have anything to try and stitch with.”

“Got anything for the pain?” He coughed out. She smiled, but it wasn’t a good smile. “Did they…?”

Erica shook her head and Stiles felt a rush of relief go through his head. She was safe, and that was all that mattered. Stiles could see she was worried about him. What she looked at couldn’t have been a pretty sight.

“You’ve been out for a couple of days.”

That didn’t surprise him at all. He’d read about trauma in one of Deaton’s books and he knew he lucky to be alive. It wasn’t uncommon for people who were whipped to never be seen again.

“Where are we?”

“Deaton’s house. Nobody tried to stop me when I took you. I think you scared them with how long you lasted.”

She was trying to distract him from his back, and he was glad that she was. “How long did I last?”

“You passed out when they untied you.”

He stared at her in disbelief because there was no way he stayed conscious for the whole ten lashes. He stopped counting after the third, because there were too many pieces to keep track of. But apparently he did.

He would feel proud of himself if he wasn’t in in excruciating pain.

“I think you even scared Harris when you started laughing. After the fifth time you just told them to keep going,” Erica told him. “I thought you’d lost your mind. I would bet everything I own that if you’d just walked away Harris would’ve cried witchcraft.”

“It’s a good thing you don’t own much.”

Erica laughed, and the sound of it made Stiles grin weakly against the pillow.

 

 

He tried to walk the next day. He needed Erica’s support more than anything, but at least he could stand, even if it was barely. It was against her better judgement because his gashes were still in the middle of closing. He didn’t tell her he was in extreme pain, but that was because he wanted them to get out of the lower Circle as fast as his body would allow.

After she changed his makeshift bandages, she told him she would be back as soon as she could. She took the bag that they packed their clothes in from the week before, and Stiles wanted to stop her and make her take him with her but he wasn’t sure if leaving the house was the best idea. According to Erica, there were people coming and apologising for ever supporting Harris. They even gave her bread and cheese to make up for the way they’d treated them over the years.

Erica told Stiles that it was because he scared them so much. He was inclined to believe it as well, because he was awake when one of them came to see her. They didn’t even look at him. He could tell they wanted to, but they were determined to look at Erica. He tried thanking them, but they just nodded at Erica and walked out.

She came back not much later, and the bag was fuller than when she left. She lifted it onto the table with ease, and several bags spilled out of it. “I think Deaton left you a present.”

Stiles recognised three of the bags at most, because they were ones that he’d given Deaton to take care of until they were full. But there were at least seven small bags, and all of them were full of coins.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he breathed.

His laugh was cynical, which had only come from years’ worth of practice.

“Stiles, you know what this means, don’t you?”

“We’re getting out?”

Erica smiled, and it was her response that made Stiles feel like he was floating.

“You don’t have to sell the fucking necklace.”

 

 

They decided to leave the next day, after a long argument that consisted of Stiles trying to convince Erica that he was strong enough to leave the house. Erica walked with his arm thrown over her shoulder all the way to the main gate. He couldn’t hold his entire weight without wanting to collapse, so she helped carry him. Out of all the ways to leave the mud and shit of the lowest circle inside the Capital, Stiles never imagined that it would happen before he was sixteen. He also never imagined that his back would be torn open at the time.

The guards at the gate held out a hand. “What do you kids think you’re doing?”

Stiles could feel Erica’s body language shift under him as she began to act. “Please Ser, it’s my brother. He’s sick and I need to get him to a healer.”

Stiles didn’t need to pretend he looked like he was in pain.

The guards gave each other a look, and Stiles was glad that they waited for the rotation to be on its last days. They were sure not to care as much. But then one of them looked Stiles in the eye and his face filled with recognition. “You’re that boy who got whipped.”

Erica dropped the pretense instantly. “If you just let us–”

“We’re not letting you through without a proper family title. There are enough whores in the two Circles; we don’t need a couple of third-class whores to join them.”

Stiles would’ve argued with them if his strength was better, so he was lucky he had Erica around.

“Listen here _Ser_ , we have coin that was hard earned over our lives, and you’re double our age but what do you amount to? You’re guarding the lowest inside gate. You _will_ take our coin and you _will_ let us through,” Erica demanded, and their bored expressions turned to alarmed almost immediately. “We’re not _whores_ that you can bed and then spit on at the gate when we know the ways to make you scream when your useless wives cannot. You’ve seen Stiles get whipped and he _laughed_. What do you think he can do once he’s fully healed?”

Stiles fought the urge to laugh at the fear that flittered over their features, because that was a look that meant they’d won. The guards nodded and held out their hands, and Erica gave them five coins each. It wasn’t as hard as Stiles thought it would be, to give away their money.

They walked for as long as Stiles could before he had to rest. Even though they were in the middle circle, even as close to the gate as they still were, this life was so different to the life they’d known, even in its similarities. There were people trading at stalls, haggling over prices, children playing together in the street.

It was hard to believe that this was further than he ever believed they could get.

Stiles looked at Erica, and her smile was contagious. She had come from outside of the Capital Walls, so she’d never seen anything like this before. She turned and looked at Stiles and she beamed at him. He’d never seen her so happy before, and it was amazing to see her look so carefree.

She was never truly happy at the brothel, because Harris terrorised Stiles and in turn, Erica, but she was free of that now. Stiles could see it on her face and he knew that he would be content to remain by her side forever.

They were closer than siblings could ever hope to be.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how many times I can say sorry for how long its been but now uni is over for the year and I'm going to quit my job so hopefully I can write more.
> 
> I'm trash, I know.
> 
> Also this is unbetaed so please forgive any mistakes I didn't catch.

The leap to the ground wasn’t that far, in all honesty. It’s not like it could _hurt_ him if he missed the pile of hay that always seemed conveniently sorted under his window. He told himself that his mother didn’t know he snuck out whenever he could, but who was he kidding, his mother was aware of everything he did.

Derek jumped anyway, landing easily on the ground. He had left his guards at his door, as he always had since the Argents came to organise a treaty. They’d been there for longer than any of them wanted, but still, they wouldn’t give up trying to tie their families together. It wasn’t happening, as far as any of the Hales were concerned.

He’d just passed through the stables when he heard the tell-tale signs of someone trailing him. Derek didn’t have to look to know whose steady heartbeat it was. “Boyd, don’t you have some squires to push around?”

Derek looks over his shoulder and sees the knight in servants clothing, a smirk etched on his face. “I’m sure they could use the reprieve for one evening. According to the Queen, I have other duties to attend to.”

“Such as?” Derek asked, knowing the answer.

“Managing her pain in the ass son from getting into trouble, apparently.”

Derek raised an eyebrow before he reluctantly smiled back at his friend as they snuck through the gap in the Wall. It wasn’t long until they’d gotten to the bridge and started blending into the different groups of people. The clothes of the servants made them blend in easily, and Derek’s hood made sure that no one from the castle could recognise him. Not that they would, but he had to make sure that it was a less likely possibility.

“Your mother probably doesn’t expect us back until morning. She said you’ve been avoiding Katherine again.”

“I never stopped avoiding her, you mean,” Derek snorts.

Boyd grimaces as Derek leads him through the door to the Inn he tends to frequent the most. It was one of the quieter one he’d found over his trips outside the Wall, but it wasn’t too quiet for him to have to make conversation with the people who worked there. The keeper smiled, her eyes lighting up at the appearance of a familiar face.

Derek didn’t sneak out _that_ often, but it was easy to recognise a face that had come to be a constant presence every time he did. “I see you brought a friend, Derek.”

Derek smiled and nodded, and Boyd held out a hand, “My name is Boyd, my lady.”

“I’m no lady,” she scoffed, but her delight was obvious. “Melissa McCall,” she said, shaking his hand.

If Derek noticed how tired her eyes looked, he didn’t comment. It wasn’t his business after all.

“How’s times?”

“Oh, the usual I guess. Not too busy that we can’t handle it.”

Derek looked around, and the easy smiles he was accustomed to weren’t anywhere in sight. Boyd seemed to mention it before Derek could get the chance. “We?”

“My extra hands have the afternoon off, so I’m the only one here for now. They’ll be back soon.”

Derek felt relief go through him, because if there was something he always looked forward to on his time away, it was the manual workers she had. They were intriguing, full of stories and imagination. But that’s what Derek had guessed he would have been like as a child had he not been learning politics and strategies and how to fight and defend his life.

“How many are there?” Boyd asked curiously, sensing Derek’s mood shift.

“Three. My son and his two friends. I wanted to surprise them, so I gave them the time to roam.”

“Surprise them?” Derek asked, head tilting as he sat in the corner seat with Boyd.

“It’s Stiles’ birthday. I’m expecting the delivery from the baker soon.”

Derek nodded as Melissa went back to looking after the other patrons, leaving Derek and Boyd with a pint of ale. Not that it would affect them, but she didn’t need to know that.

The baker opened the door as the sun was starting to set, carrying the small plain cake through the Inn. Melissa’s face lit up, but Derek frowned at its size. It was a reminder that his people didn’t have the same things as them, thanks to the fallout of the war. They were still on rations until the treaty was sorted. Yet another thing the Argent’s had stopped the progression of.

Except none of them seemed to mind. They all seemed content with what they were given, like it was more than they expected.

It was why he argued with Melissa’s adoptions so often. They always seemed so grateful for what she gave them, like they didn’t deserve even that much kindness. It irked him, their need to prove how they weren’t useless. They had always seemed more diligent and thorough than half of the people who work in the palace, but they acted like they hadn’t done enough to earn Melissa’s freely given kindness.

He wished they wanted more than what they were given, especially seeing how smart they were. The first time Derek had come to his place three months ago, he’d been drawn in by the argument that one of them had been making with a traveler. The voice drew Derek in, the want to hear the voice win against this person who claimed that the war was a good thing.

He remembers the righteous shouting like it was yesterday.

_“So people who are left without families, without food, that’s a necessary and honourable result?”_

_“Those people should be glad that their loved ones left other cowards behind! They fought for freedom!”_

_Derek walked through the door at that, and the boy –almost a man– didn’t even look up, but the fury in his eyes was palpable from the distance between them._

_“Other cowards? You’re calling people who wanted to stay with their family_ cowards _? They aren’t the cowards. What did you do when the war was on? Did you go and fight? Or did you stay at home and sell out others to keep your shirt on your back? I don’t see any scars on you at all.”_

_“What would you know of war? You’re barely old enough to remember what it was like before. You know nothing about what we went through!”_

_A blonde girl had decided to intervene, walking up and touching his bicep gently, like she was family, saying his name._ _“Stiles–”_

_“No, Erica. He thinks life before the war was tough? I bet he wouldn’t survive a week in our lives.”_

_“Your life doesn’t seem so hard,_ boy _. I bet you wouldn’t last a day in mine.”_

_At the time all the boy could do was laugh, and it was a cruel sound. Bitter. Loathing._

“ _You wouldn’t last a day if you had been a flea on our backs. Don’t presume to know me.”_

_And then he had stormed off, the girl Erica glaring at the door after him, and Melissa looking like she wanted to tear into the man that had been arguing with the boy._

Boyd coughed and Derek looked to him, and Boyd made a face at his cup, like he wished to have some that Deaton would cook up for them. Derek knew the feeling, but before he could say as much, the sound of laughter was getting louder in the distance, and he could hear the back door to the Inn as Melissa’s son Scott walked through the entryway, Erica and Stiles behind him. All of them looked more carefree than Derek had seen them, but there was always something in Stiles’ eyes that looked hidden and restrained.

Derek could understand that, more than anyone. It was why he favoured Stiles the most.

Melissa was already calling them back to work, and they were all still smiling at each other when they started going about their duties.

It was Erica who walked up to them, a warm smile on her face. “Derek, fancy seeing you back here. Who’s your friend?” She said as her eyes trailed over Boyd. Derek had been on the other end of that look when they’d first noticed he had come in, and Derek had been amused more than anything, but Boyd had a look on his face that Derek had never seen before. It was… enlightening, if Derek could think of just a word.

Not helpful for Boyd unfortunately. Derek clearly didn’t have to remind him of that, judging by the look on his face when Erica turned her attention on Derek. “Boyd, meet Erica. Erica, this is Boyd.”

Erica smiled and her eyes seemed to light up, offering them a refill, which they accepted.

 

 

The longer they sat, the further the sun sank behind the horizon. Derek had asked Scott about a room, who had then gotten them the key after he’d given him the coins for the night. Derek still hadn’t had a chance to talk to Stiles, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to with Boyd there.

It didn’t stop him from staring though, from watching his careful hands and long fingers as they balanced out his seemingly clumsy movements. His wide smile as Scott and Erica and Melissa called out things to him, his bright eyes dancing with mirth. He met Derek’s eyes once, as he was moving between tables and the kitchen, and he nodded at Derek in acknowledgment. Derek didn’t have a chance to nod back, but it didn’t seem to matter when people started to fan out of the Inn either to their rooms or to their homes, because that’s when Stiles came and sat down with them.

Boyd looked like he was about to protest, but Derek smiled at Stiles before he could send him away. “Good day, Stiles?”

Stiles smiled softly and nodded, one of his hands reaching up and fiddling with the chain hanging around his neck. It was the nervous habit that Derek had first noticed whenever Stiles didn’t have any work to do, the thin and delicate silver the only thing that could be seen of the necklace. The rest hid under his clothing, and Derek had figured that it was obviously important to him. Except when he asked about it, Stiles had closed off and shook his head, saying it was something he found when he was a kid.

Derek couldn’t think of a way to call him out on the lie without saying his heartbeat skipped, so he let it be.

“This is Boyd,” Derek introduced stiffly. He had no idea how to talk around Stiles, and it infuriated him. He wanted to talk and joke, but Stiles made him forget how. He wanted to talk to him like he would his friends, but Stiles always seemed determined to only speak to the people in the Inn when he was spoken to.

“Yes, Erica told me,” he said, dipping his head toward Boyd.

Boyd nodded back, and he seemed to have no trouble in starting a conversation with Stiles. “Melissa said it was your name day? How old are you now?”

Stiles’ face coloured slightly, like he was embarrassed, but a small smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he answered, “Unfortunately, yes. It’s my sixteenth summer.”

Derek forced his eyes away from Stiles’ lips and he frowned. “Unfortunately?”

Stiles didn’t answer, not really, he just nodded and his eyes looked far off for a moment, before he turned a question to Boyd. “So how are you and Derek acquainted?”

Boyd shrugged, but Derek could see how tense he was as he thought over his answer carefully. “We grew up together. Unluckily for me, he’s always been a pain in my ass.”

Stiles laughed at that, his head thrown back and neck looking as pale as ever. “Sounds as if you’ve got your own Erica.”

There was a call from across the almost empty room then, Erica calling out, “I heard that, Stiles!”

Stiles grinned and looked over his shoulder to Erica, and from what Derek knows about them, he can’t help the words tumbling out of his mouth. “I thought you were siblings?” That’s what they had said anyway, and Derek hadn’t heard a lie.

Stiles frowns slightly, fingers picking at the wood in the table. “Just because we’re not blood doesn’t mean we’re not family. Scott’s my brother, Erica’s my sister. Melissa is the greatest mother I could ask for.”

When Stiles twitched when he said the word mother, he obviously didn’t notice it. Derek made a sound at the words though, and Stiles looked at him in contempt. “What? You think your family is as strong as mine?”

Derek knew that tone anywhere, and he struggled to think of something to say that wouldn’t make this end up in an argument. He didn’t want Stiles to hate him. The opposite, in fact. Boyd seemingly clued in to his panic and desperation, and he said with a knowing smile, “I think what Derek was trying to say was that he agrees. Our family is made up of more than just his blood relatives.”

Stiles seemed to deflate, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Oh… Sorry– I just… people tend to assume they’re better than we are because of our lineage,” Stiles laughed, looking thoughtful. “Or lack of lineage, I suppose.”

A question that was on tip of Derek’s tongue was interrupted when Melissa came out of the kitchen with the cake in hand; Scott and Erica bring chairs to their tiny table. Stiles looked over and saw her carrying it, and he let out a put upon sigh but his eyes were warm.

Somehow he convinced Boyd and Derek to share it with them, saying that they looked like they could use some laughter. It wasn’t lost on Derek though, when Boyd quickly agreed as Erica sat next to him, nor when Melissa said Derek looked tired.

The negotiations were thrust forward in his mind and he nodded, but his attempts to reason were crushed under Stiles’ gentle hand as it stopped his from moving and his tiny smile that only Derek seemed to see. “Consider it your gift to me. Please.”

Derek couldn’t stop himself from giving in.

 

 

The ceiling stared down at him with the same intensity he had been giving it since they went to their room. Boyd was still awake, his breathing like he was trying to convince Derek he was asleep but they both knew better. “You always come here, Hale?”

Derek sighs, nodding. “Never stayed the night before.”

“This can only end badly for both of us.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I’m not saying you don’t, but this just got a whole lot more difficult.”

“It’s not like they’d actually make me marry an Argent, Boyd.”

“No, but your mother, who, if you remember correctly is the _Queen_ , would probably wolf out in front of the court if she knew you were in love with a peasant boy. No lineage, nothing of wealth. You sure know how to pick them.”

Derek growled quietly in warning. “I saw the way you looked at Erica. We’re both fucked, Boyd.”

“Don’t growl at me, Hale. I’m not a Prince. It doesn’t matter what I do,” he tried to argue in an angry whisper.

“No, but you’re going to be the new Captain of the Guard when he retires. It’s not like you can marry a peasant girl when you have that title sitting on your shoulders just as much as I have Prince on mine.”

Boyd sighed. “At least your sister is lined up for Alpha. That probably the only thing that can make this easier; that you won’t be King.”

“I know. It’s the best thing that could happen, actually.”

It was easier to fall asleep after that.

 

 

Pushing himself through the gap in midday was risky, but he and Boyd seemed to manage it without being detected. Even through his mother sending him judging glances throughout the council meeting, it was worth it. Because he’d seen Stiles, had spent his birthday with him, and that outweighed the questions he was bound to receive when she cornered him later.

“We need to reach out to the lower Circles. They’re still feeling the fallout from the rationing,” the Captain of the Guard said, reminding Derek he probably shouldn’t be thinking of how Stiles’ hand felt resting on his the night before. It was just a simple touch, but it felt like it was everything.

“The lower Circles have their own system of operation; they don’t recognise the power of the council,” Harris said with a sneer.

Derek couldn’t stand Harris whenever he was in the Walls. He walked around like he had _power_ in their ranks, like he could command them because he profited from the bodies of others. Derek remembers the week from years ago when he had scratches on his face from one of his people.

“Maybe we should try reaching out to them? Show them that things are different now,” Derek said carefully, watching his mother’s face for approval. He wasn’t disappointed when she smirked at the Captain.

“My brother is right. If we don’t show them compassion, we’ll just lose them entirely,” Laura added, sharing a look with him.

Harris looked like he was going to bust a vein. “The Third Circle was designed–”

“The Third Circle was designed for defense, not for poverty. We need to reassign the soldiers, make our Capital secure,” the Captain cut off, glaring at Harris with disdain.

“What resources do we have for that? Even before the war, you couldn’t manage the security of this city–”

“That’s enough,” the Queen cuts off, looking between the two of them. “When the treaty is signed, we won’t have to fear our own gates. My children are right; we need to start reaching out. I don’t want my people living in fear any longer.”

After the meeting, his mother asked for him to stay behind. Laura’s smirk said all he needed to know as he remained seated, expecting to be scolded for going outside the Walls. She sat there, watching Derek, before she sighed and shook her head. “You know there is a reason why it’s so easy for you to sneak out.”

Derek stared at his feet, expecting as much.

“Just as there is a reason you have Boyd with you, and there is a reason why I don’t post guards outside the gap.”

Derek’s head shot up, and his mom was watching him in amusement.

“You made some good points earlier. That’s why I want you to do something for me, Derek,” and she paused, seeming to think over her words. It was a skill that came with many years of practice, he was sure. “I want you to go into the circles and detail them for me. Second Circle isn’t so bad, the people aren’t in such a bad state, but they still need the supplies we have. I want you to tell me what the people are like, and I want you to go into the Third Circle and observe. Tell me what my people are suffering through, Derek. Please,” she asked.

Derek nodded, and she smiled one of her private smiles reserved for only her children and the Captain. “You can go.”

He left the chamber quietly, already on his way out to the kitchens when his name was called by a voice that never ceased to give him a chill. Derek turned, cold smile on his face. “Lady Katherine.”

She smiled, and it was overly polite. “I’ve told you, handsome, call me Kate.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Did you want anything? I’m in the middle of something.”

Her gaze turned dark as she took his hand. “Prince Derek, I thought we could talk, figure out when we should–”

Derek snatched his hand away as quick as she took it, leveling her with a glare. “Kate, whatever you want? It’s never going to happen. So stop pretending and stay away from me,” he snarled, walking away as quickly as he could manage.

“It’s going to happen eventually, Hale,” her laughter chased him through the halls.

 

 

His visits got longer outside of the Walls. Boyd came with him most times. When he was at home, training got easier for the squires, and his control wasn’t in debate when the Argents appeared at random. He managed to talk to Stiles more, holding running conversations with him.

The first time he’d ventured into the Third Circle was an overwhelming experience. The streets were lined with filth, and there were children looking starved or beaten. At one point he thought he’d seen Harris outside of one of his brothels, but he quickly pulled Boyd into one of the houses. It was empty barring the bed and the table, dust settled over its surfaces. With a resigned sigh, Derek sat on the edge of the bed, before Boyd pulled him up and away from the cot.

“What, Boyd?”

“We shouldn’t be here” Boyd said quietly, nodding towards the dark patches on the floor.

Derek stared at it before taking a deep breath. _There_ , beneath the dust and dirt, he could smell the blood trail on the floor. It led from the doorway to where they were standing, and Derek followed it to the bed, knowing what he’d find when he lifted the cover.

Sure enough, there were stains of blood covering the mattress, but it didn’t look fresh. Not wanting to stay for longer than necessary, Derek and Boyd had returned home and reported everything to the Queen, who looked positively furious at Harris. They’d gone back to the Inn that night, eager to see the McCall household and unwind. They left out specific details about what she’d said, but that the Queen had put a councilman in his place about the system in the Third Circle in front of everybody. Stiles and Erica were quiet that night, and Derek didn’t know why until he’d overheard them once he and Boyd retired to their room.

_“I know you’re thinking about it, Stiles.”_

_“I know you’re thinking about it too, Erica.”_

_“Do you think they’d care?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“If the Queen is–”_

_“I said I don’t_ know _, Erica.”_

There was silence and Derek though they’d fallen asleep, but Stiles spoke up again.

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“I know you are.”_

_“Sorry.”_

_“Go to sleep, Stiles.”_

 

 

The treaty was finally starting to come to a close – Derek wouldn’t have to marry Katherine, who he tried to avoid after the murder of his father. They couldn't find the assassin, who had poisoned both him and his father, but Derek knew she was involved. She _had_ to be. Instead her niece Allison would live in palace as their ward. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than the alternate. There were supposed to be celebrations in order once it was signed, but Derek had snuck out with Boyd instead. Even after they had given her their separate reports, Talia had said she didn’t know why she bothered to pretend like they weren’t still going, as long as they were safe.

Derek looked over at Boyd and Erica sitting over by the hearth and he knew that Boyd was going to bring it up with the Captain of the Guard when they had their next meeting. Derek didn’t realise he was staring until he heard the snort of laughter from next to him. He looked up and Stiles was sliding into the seat next to him, and only then did Derek realise that the room was spotless. “You did Erica’s chores, too?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“More work for you, I guess?”

Stiles smirked at Derek, shaking his head. “In a life like ours, you make sacrifices for the people you love.”

“You’re equating love for a good reason to skip out on duties?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “No chance in hell. Any of them. But now she owes me, so I think that makes a satisfactory reason.”

Derek laughs, nodding. “They look happy,” he sighs.

“I’m glad. Erica deserves to be happy” Stiles says quietly, looking at them with a fond expression.

Derek wasn’t paying attention to them though, too busy following the pattern of moles around his face. He took in the soft crinkle by his eyes, the length of his lashes. He’d never gotten to look at Stiles so closely before, even when he made a habit of keeping Stiles in his sight. He’d always known he was beautiful, but seeing Stiles up close had always made Derek’s chest go tight.

“So do you,” he breaths, and Stiles’ focus snaps to Derek.

His eyes flit over Derek’s face, and his brows draw together like he’s confused at whatever he sees in Derek’s face. Derek wouldn’t be able to say what was on his face, but when Stiles put his hand over his, his skin warm against Derek’s, he would only be able to say it must have been a good thing. He looked back over to his sister and Derek couldn’t move his gaze from Stiles. Derek didn’t know how much time had passed before Stiles broke the silence; his hand feeling like it was on fire from where his skin touched Stiles.

“We should turn in. It’s getting late.”

Derek nodded and grudgingly slipped his hand away from under Stiles’, leaving for his room. He blocked out the sound of Erica and Boyd’s hushed conversation, trying instead to focus on the sound of his own heartbeat. It wasn’t enough, and soon his eyes were closing to the even heartbeat he’d come to recognise as Stiles’. The knock on his door made him realise how close it sounded. He pulled the door open, hopefully curious when he saw Stiles was on the other side in a simple long sleeve shirt and trousers. “Sorry, you were probably sleeping–”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh. Can we talk?” Stiles asked, looking confident.

Derek nodded, opening the door further for him. Stiles nodded as he walked through, and he took a deep breath before turning to face Derek. Derek hadn’t seen Stiles look as confident as he was in this moment, but there was something about him that was still closed off. When Derek scented the air he could smell the briefest touch of fear, but it was largely anticipation; anticipation that Derek wasn’t sure who was feeling.

Stiles opened his mouth, but then closed it before he shook his head. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Derek answered, confused.

“Can you close your eyes?”

Derek raised an eyebrow but did as he was told, closing both eyes. He could hear Stiles step closer to him, could hear his controlled breathing and level heartbeat. His scent drew nearer and Derek forced himself to keep his eyes shut.

He felt Stiles’ breath against his lips and then the soft brush of them pressing against his, and Derek let out a tiny sound as he opened his eyes. Stiles’ eyes were usually restless, flickering and taking in details, but now they were staring into Derek’s eyes. There was a brief squint before Stiles put his hand on his jaw and pressed his lips back against his, harder and more searching. He opened his mouth for Stiles when he felt Stiles’ tongue brush his lips, groaning as he licked into his mouth.

Derek’s hands came up to Stiles’ hips, trying to pull him closer, and Stiles let out a hum as he reached around and put his hands in Derek’s hair, tugging as Derek stepped them backwards. He hit the wall with a soft thud, and Stiles smirked against Derek’s skin when Derek started kissing across his jawline. Stiles directed Derek’s head to his neck, and Derek fought of the growl in his throat as he bit harsh kisses into the soft flesh.

“Derek,” Stiles breathed into his ear, teeth catching against it.

He shuddered and Stiles did it again, deliberately this time, biting and dragging his teeth over his lobe. Derek broke away and kissed Stiles deeply, who melted into it, demanding and taking from Derek and giving just as much back. He was so caught up he forgot about his hands that were clutching onto Stiles’ hips and he moved them up and pulled his shirt out from his pants, finding the warmth of his skin addicting. He inched Stiles' shirt up more, but then Stiles turned his head away and tried to push his hands down. “Stiles–”

“Don’t, Derek,” he said, and his voice was shaking slightly.

Derek drew back, letting his hands drop from Stiles’ body. He stepped away, and Stiles’ breathing was sporadic, his heartbeat just as erratic.

“Stiles, what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”

Stiles closed his eyes, taking deep breaths and then when he opened his eyes, he shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

“I… I’ll see you in the morning,” Stiles said softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Sleep well.”

When Derek forced himself to get into his bed, he didn’t expect to fall asleep as quickly as he did.

 

 

The morning came and Derek was confused for several moments as to why he was on a rock solid surface and not his soft feathered mattress, but then he opened his eyes and saw Boyd sleeping on the other bed in the room. He sighs and slowly lifts himself out of the bed, cracking his stiff neck and yawning. The sounds downstairs filled his ears, the clunking about of people moving and things being prepared for the day.

Derek pulled on his boots and made his way downstairs, the light through the windows making him squint. It was harsher than he was used to for his mornings, and he was met by a bright eyed Stiles humming as he cleaned the table tops. Erica and Scott were in the kitchen area, and Derek could hear the sound of a fire going as well as the smell of food slowly wafting through the air.

“Good morning, Derek. You look particularly awake for the day.”

Derek groaned in response, and it made Stiles smile at him. His morning was instantly made, but no one else seemed to be awake. Not even Melissa.

“What time is it?”

Stiles looked out the window, squinting a little before turning back to Derek. “Probably just after dawn?”

Derek groaned again. “What is the matter with you? Why would anyone willingly get up this early?”

Stiles grinned, moving to the next table. “Habit. Besides, some of us have chores to do. What do you do, by perchance? It’s been nagging at me every time I see you but I forget to ask.”

Derek struggled to think of something quickly, but eventually he just blurted the first words that came to his head. “I’m– I train animals.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows in surprise and stared a Derek for a good long moment. “You train animals?”

Derek nods, but he can sense the doubt coming off of Stiles. “Wolves. The hunting dogs. I work for the Crowning family.”

Stiles’ eyebrows immediately sink down, frowning at Derek. “You work for the Hales?” Derek finds himself nodding, hoping Stiles believes him. “So, how do they treat their people? Better than they treat us, I presume.”

The comment struck Derek; he knew it wasn’t like that. His family was kind. They protected their pack, their people. They were trying to make things better. “They’re kind– they treat everyone equally. No one is in want for anything they can’t have.”

Stiles laughs and it wasn’t the type laughter that sent a warmth through Derek. It was the kind that sent a chill through him at how broken and cruel it sounded, like he was in pain. It almost reminded him of Kate, whose was twisted and sneering, whereas Stiles just sounded wrecked and tired. “If you don’t want to tell me what you actually do then you can just say it. You don’t have to lie to me. I thought you trusted me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“And yet I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

Stiles paused, bent over the table before he straightened up and folded his arms over each other. “I’ve known people from the Court, Derek, and you cannot say to me with a straight face that they’re kind, because they’re _not_ , they’re violent and manipulative bastards who make a living out of destroying people’s lives.”

Derek clenched his jaw, not believing that Stiles trusted what he said from the bottom of his heart. Because they weren’t true, not at _all_ –

“Why do you believe that?”

“Why don’t _you_?”

“I know them; I’ve talked to them–”

“So have I, Derek,” Stiles all but shouted. Derek knew it was because Erica and Scott were here; they were trying to not look like they were eavesdropping and failing. Erica looked like she was barely containing her fury and Scott just looked torn, but the fact was that Stiles knew people from the palace and that just made Derek stop in his tracks. After all this time–

“You know people from Court?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, it’s not like they inhabit the castle walls on a permanent basis.”

Derek was about to open his mouth, but Erica jumped in. Her expression wasn’t as controlled as Stiles’, but the fury was dancing in his eyes. “Stiles, leave it. He might not be telling the truth but you know he’s not lying, not completely.”

Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes all Derek saw was coldness in them before he turned away.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Derek was aching to make things right with Stiles, but Stiles seemed determined to avoid him. The unsubtle glaring from Erica’s direction didn’t go unmissed. Boyd eventually dragged him away and into an empty lane between the busy streets, life passing by around them. “There’s nothing you can do, sire.”

Derek forced himself to look at his friend then, knowing that he was being serious if he addressed him properly. “Boyd–”

“Maybe it’s for the best, Derek” he replied carefully, watching for his reaction.

He knew Boyd was right, but he felt like it wasn’t good enough – like _he_ wasn’t good enough to make it right with Stiles, who deserved better. After their hospitality, after the night before, after _Stiles_ , he just couldn’t let it be. But the indifference in his eyes kept repeating in his head, reminding him how bad he fucked up.

“Did you talk to Erica?”

Boyd lets go of his arms, looking away and shaking his head. “She wouldn’t look at me.”

They stood in silence, unable to parse the emotions in the air. Boyd sighs, leaning against the nearby wall of one of the buildings. “We should go back soon.”

Derek let Boyd lead him back to the gap in the Wall, but he felt like the next few days were spent in a daze, just working through his usual routine. It came to pass sparring with the younger knights when he ended up being knocked down by _Jackson_ , of all people. His eyes went wide and nervous when Derek’s eyes flashed out of shock, sending Boyd into a fit of laughter that he knew his sisters could hear from across the courtyard.

“I’m sorry your highness, I–”

“Whittemore, relax. That was a good round,” Boyd called out.

Jackson hesitantly held out his hand, and Derek took as he helped him up. He clapped his hand on the young beta’s shoulder, feeling him tense under his hand. “Oh calm down, no one is going to punish you for doing what you’ve been trained to do.”

After that Jackson was unbearably smug.

 

 

He was reading in the library when a shadow blocked out his light. Derek turned the page, ignoring his sister’s presence. If he didn’t respond she’d usually go away, so he just kept reading until she took the book from his hands. “Derek, look at me.”

Derek looked up, meeting Laura’s eye and then she sighed.

“What’s happened? You’ve had your head in the clouds since the treaty celebrations, which _somehow_ you conveniently missed with Boyd.”

“We just weren’t in the mood,” he tries.

“I asked mother where you were, idiot. She got this look in her eye and said that you were running an errand for her. _So_ , which is it?”

Laura pursed her lips as she waited for his response, and he couldn’t find a way to get out of it. “We were in the Circle,” he grit out.

“The _Circle_? You went through the gap, didn’t you?” Derek nods, and she sighs and sits down across from him. “Why?”

“Didn’t want to be around everyone,” Derek says simply. By the look on her face she’s expecting more. “Look, it started because I didn’t want to be around the Argents.”

“We all had to suffer through that, Derek.”

“Kate didn’t poison _you_ though, did she?” Laura looked guilty and sorry all at one, and Derek just wanted to be outside. “After that meeting… She asked me to go down into the two circles and report back.”

“She asked _you_ to do that? Why not one of the stableboys?”

“I was already doing it, Laura–”

“Are you a complete lunatic? No, wait, don’t answer that. _What if someone recognised you_?”

“They haven’t, that’s all that matters. Boyd comes with me, just to make sure.”

Laura sighs, taking his hand gently. “If they find out…”

“They won’t find out, Laura. We make sure to stay where the people don’t know us.”

“Is this why you’ve been moody lately?”

Derek pulls his hand from hers. “I’m going for a run.”

Laura sighs and stands with him, looking determined to follow until he shakes his head. “I just want to be alone right now, Laura. Please.”

“Just be careful, Derek.”

 

 

Running through the forest that surrounded the citadel was like a breath of fresh air, allowing his mind to roam as his paws pressed into the soil. It was beyond the gardens, trailing out towards the coastline. He’d been familiar with the tracks since he was born, following the scents until he was dizzy with elation. It was the only thing to distract him from everything until he returned for the evening.

Picking up his clothes from the edge of the gardens, dressing as he walked, he made his way to his family and sat down across from Laura.

“Nice of you to join us, Derek,” the Captain said with a faint smirk.

It wasn’t unusual for the Captain of the Guard to join them on family lunches, since he’d been friends with his parents before Laura was born. The man was a mentor to Derek before the war, but he’d changed in that time. When the war started he’d been frantic, but the first time he returned it was clear that he was a harder man.

“Ser,” he nodded.

He then noticed his mother’s expression, looking cautious and restrained for once. When everyone had left the room, he’d gone over to her.

“Mom…?”

She looked up at him, blinking twice before taking his hand. “Derek, I need you to go into the Third again.”

Derek nodded gently, trying to restrain himself when the memory of the bloody bed came to mind. “What would you have me do?”

“I want you to take Laura. She needs to see these things first hand if she wants to make the right decisions for our people.”

“And Cora?”

“No, keep Cora away from there. I don’t want her involved until it’s settled. If someone were to see her…”

“Like Harris?”

It brought a pained smile to her face. “Yes, like Harris. I don’t trust him, Derek.”

“Does anyone?”

She smiled again, kissing his forehead. “Just be careful. I expect you back in a week.”

He withdrew from her touch and smiled before he turned away and climbed the stairs up to Laura’s room. Her guards stepped aside as he approached, knocking on the door and waiting for her answer.

 

 

Laura stared down at the hay in contempt. “You’ve got to be joking.”

He’d grabbed her training attire and chucked them at her, explaining while keeping his back turned to her as she changed out of her gown and into the loose shirt and leather pants. Derek shook his head, dropping from his window and waiting for her to follow. She dropped down after a whine of frustration, landing gracefully in the pile before he pulled her to her feet and handed her one of the buckskin jackets they’d kept from the winter previous.

They were on their way towards the gap when she stopped him. “What about Boyd?”

“Boyd will be meeting us in the Second Circle in a few days.”

She let him lead her through the backstreets, passing unseen by the people who were getting ready to retire for the night. It was when he was passing a familiar backstreet that he recognised his scent and paused.

“Derek, what is it?”

He swallowed, blocking it from his mind. “Nothing. If we move quickly I know a place where we can stay.”

They made it to the Third Circle before midnight, and Derek lead her to the abandoned house that they’d found. The moonlight shone through the back windows, and when Laura stepped towards the bed, he grabbed her arm. “Not the bed.”

“Why not?”

He pulled the sheet back to reveal the old blood stains and her face paled. “Come on, there are stables just outside.”

The empty stalls had old beds of grass flittering through them, use long since passed. Derek wondered idly if it was as old as the blood stains.

“Do you get a kick out of this, brother?” Laura asked from beside him.

He snorted, shaking his head. “Trust me; I would rather be where Boyd is.”

“He’s in Second?”

“You’ll be in for a shock when we meet him.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never seen him pine before.”

“ _What_?”

“I know.”

Laura fiddled with some of the hay near her head. “Is that why you disappear so much?”

Derek stopped short. “…No.”

“Liar.”

“It’s not– he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“I lied to him.”

“And he knew?”

“I don’t know how, he’s not like us, Laura–”

“You really like him, then?”

Derek didn’t answer but then again, he didn’t have to.

The silence was always so telling.

 

 

Seeing the ruins of the Third Circle felt like physical blows at times. What he was seeing now, the giant pole in the middle of the square, it was like something out of a nightmare. The old wood was fractured and stained with blood, both on the platform and the pole. There were chains bolted by the head of it, the shackles hanging down and chiming their haunting music as the wind shook them. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from it. Laura couldn’t pull him away either, equally transfixed, and then there was a voice pulling them away from their thoughts.

“Not from ‘ere, are ya?”

Derek looked to the stranger, who was reeking of fear and curiosity and shit.

“No, we’re from a village outside of here,” Laura said quickly.

“Dun worry, the pole ‘asn’t been used in months.”

“Why would you use it?”

“Rich man likes to tell his ‘hores who’s boss.”

Derek met Laura’s stare. “What happened the last time it was used?”

“Boy ‘hore got whipped. He died last I ‘eard.”

“Are you sure?”

“Rich man said ‘ere was too much blood in the house for ‘im to live.”

Laura’s face paled. “Which house was this?”

The man pointed to the house they were staying in. “Man who lived there used to fuck ‘im. He left when the war was over.”

Derek finally snapped out of it enough and couldn’t wait to drag his sister away.

 

 

Meeting Boyd outside the Inn was a relief in itself. Boyd looked tense, only to relax when he saw Derek and Laura coming towards him. He wrapped them both in hugs before they went inside. It was busier than usual, and when he saw Stiles rushing between patrons he knew that Laura heard his heart jump. She smirked at him, and Derek shook his head. “Don’t, Laura.”

She’d gone quiet since they’d been in the third circle, and only now was she starting to look like her old self after the days of pained silence. Derek knows that he felt the same when he first went down there.

Boyd led them to a back table which was mostly out of sight, all of them sitting quietly and only rarely beginning a conversation. That was, until a cough sounded loudly coming towards them. Derek looked at the approaching figure, immediately regretting it when it was Erica’s scowl confronting him. “Erica,” Derek acknowledged.

Boyd tensed next to him, the only one with his back turned.

She gave a mean smile, clearly waiting for them to make the first move.

Derek could feel Laura looking between all of them, before smiling and holding out her hand. “Erica, I’m Laura. Please excuse my brother, he’s not very–”

“I’ll excuse your brother when he apologises to mine.”

Laura looked shocked by her brazenness, her eyes going wide.

Erica’s stare felt like it was boring holes into his face, and Derek let out a frustrated noise. “He wouldn’t look at me, Erica.”

“I talked to him. Just go fucking apologise.”

Derek forced himself out of his chair, feeling her eyes following him as he navigated his way through the tables towards Stiles.

He was talking with Melissa, who had seen him and gave him a glare that could rival his mother’s.

“Stiles?”

Stiles’ shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice, turning around slowly while Melissa excused herself.

“Derek.”

“Listen, about what I said, I’m s–”

“If you say you’re sorry I will punch you in the cock.”

“I– what?”

Stiles sighed, looking over to where Derek’s table was. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes standing out in the light.

“Look, we were both at fault. You lied, I got angry– let’s just move on.”

Seeing him again, seeing him look so drawn out, he couldn’t help but refuse. “I’m sorry. I don’t care what you say about what happened– I mean I do, obviously, of course I do, but I need to apologise. I couldn’t– I _can’t_ stop thinking about you.”

Stiles met his eyes, tilting his head and looking like he was almost amused. “Do you say that to all the pretty things that come your way?”

Derek tried to bite back the smile that was threatening to make itself known. “Just the one.”

The side of his lip twitched and Stiles dropped his head to his chest before looking back at Derek. His mouth was open in an incredulous smile, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” yet he couldn’t help but hope.

“Go sit down, I’ll talk to you later.”

Derek went back to his seat smiling to himself, Erica moving out of the way and putting her hand on Boyd’s shoulder. Laura looked between the two of them, rolling her eyes. “You’re both pathetic. Honestly, the looks on your faces…”

Derek looked to Boyd, who was smiling down at the table.

 

 

The Inn was getting quieter as more people filed out or into their rooms, when the soft touch on his shoulder pulled him away from his conversation. He smiled up at Stiles, who looked smug. “Remember that favour Erica owed me? If you want to talk…”

“Yes!” He answered too quickly, swallowing down his embarrassment. “I mean... Yeah. Let’s talk.”

He stood up, not watching Boyd roll his eyes or Laura trying to hold back her laughter behind her hand. Derek followed Stiles out into the backstreet of the Inn, sitting on the crate that Stiles gestured to.

“So, let’s talk,” Stiles said, waving his hand.

“I’m sorry I lied.”

“Everyone lies, Derek. It’s what you lied _about_.”

 _Oh_.

Shit, did he know? Did Stiles figure it out?

“I…”

“We all have things we want to hide, but you don’t have to pretend around me.”

 _Fuck_.

“Look, Stiles–”

“If you want to insult the Hale family, I’m all ears. Any of the people in Court, I don’t care. Just don’t pretend you like them because you’ve been taught to.”

Or not. Derek couldn’t figure out if he was grateful for this small mercy. “The Hales aren’t so bad–”

Stiles scoffed.

“No, let me finish. The Hales, they’re alright. It’s the others you’ve got to watch out for.”

“The others?” Stiles asked, curiosity rising.

“There are two who are trouble along with their followers, but the rest try not to piss the Queen off too much.”

“What do they do?”

“They argue, mostly. They think of the rest as pawns.”

“I don’t find that all that surprising.” Derek laughed against his better judgement, and Stiles smiled. “What about the others then? I find it hard to believe they’re all as good as you say they are.”

“Well… there’s the Captain. He’s hard but I’ve never seen him be cruel.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it” Stiles replied, looking playful.

Derek smiled, shaking his head. “I am sorry, Stiles–”

“Don’t. It’s… We just have to agree to disagree.”

Derek nodded, turning his gaze up to the stars. “They don’t look like this over the Wall.”

“Why is that?” Stiles asks quietly.

“Someone is always working, so there’s always light. You can’t really see them for what they are unless you go into the forest.”

“When I was a child I would sneak outside with Erica and wish we were up there instead of down here.”

He looked to him and even in the darkness; Derek could see the private smile on his face. His eyes were soft, like he’d forgotten that memory. Stiles looked to him, meeting his gaze. He didn’t want to break him out of this mood, but the question had been lingering since he’d first met Stiles. “Where did you come from, Stiles?”

“Outside of here; inside of here; who knows anymore? I don’t remember.”

Stiles was playing with the necklace again and Derek caught his hand, running his thumb along the soft skin. “About that night–”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

He wasn’t lying, but the smell of Stiles’ fear in that moment had been repeating itself in his head since their kiss. “It feels like it.”

“Derek, no, I just… I just panicked. I thought you weren’t going to stop.”

“You think that of me?”

“No, _no_ , Derek, _gods_ – I don’t think that of you. I lost myself, that’s all. I promise.”

He was telling the truth, but by the strange look on Derek's face he couldn't help but think there was more to it. 

Derek pressed a soft kiss onto Stiles’ knuckles, and when Stiles smiled it felt like it was just for him.

 

 

“Mom, you won’t–” Laura cut off when they saw her company.

Talia looked over from the conversation she was having with Deucalion and Kali, holding her palm out to them for patience. “You _will_ stay away from the Argent girl, Deucalion. She didn’t take your eyes, so don’t make me have to warn you a second time.”

Deucalion snarled and Kali lead him out, flashing her eyes at the three of them. When it was clear that Talia could no longer hear them, she dropped her hand and walked over to them, pulling Derek and Laura close to her while Boyd lingered by the door. “I missed you three.”

“Mom, you wouldn’t believe it, I–” Laura started, and then Talia shushed her by patting her head when they withdrew.

“May I, Laura?” She asked gently, her hand brushing the back of Laura’s neck.

Laura nods, and Derek steps back as he watches her claws shoot out and into the back of Laura’s neck. They both grimaced and when their eyes flashed a bright red and a bright gold, Derek knew that it was done. His mother and sister were gasping against each other, holding themselves up.

“I’m going to fucking murder him,” Talia spits out.

“Mom, you know exactly why that’s a bad idea,” Derek reasons, pouring them a goblet of water each as they sat down. His mom took hers shakily, Laura just downing hers as soon as she gets her hands on it.

“Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it before now,” she growls quietly.

Laura let out a heavy sigh, clenching her fists. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Against Harris? Not yet, but the Captain and I can manage the guards to keep their eyes out. I’ll discuss it with him later, but you three need to go and change your clothes.”

 

 

“Alright, who’s next?” Derek asked, looking at the circle of squires in full armour. Not all of them were werewolves, so it was harder to tell between them with their helmets on.

One of the thinner boys stepped forward, nodding to Derek. He nodded, raising his sword in defense. The banging of steel against steel filled the space as they sparred. Derek stepped forward and they stepped back, moving to the side to find an opening. Derek’s opening came when he stepping impossibly close for them to strike, disarming them and twisting them to the ground.

Derek helped them up, their brown eyes showing through their helmet. “First rule of combat, don’t be afraid to get inside their defenses.”

They picked up their sword, lifting it and waiting. Derek raised a brow at their determination, nodding to them and picking up his sword. The clashes of their swords sounded again, this time they watched every move that Derek made. They were evenly matched as Derek held his strength back, watching carefully for them to slip up.

All eyes were on them, Boyd and the Captain watching but not participating from being dressed in their full armour, ready for the council meeting that night. It wasn’t always necessary, but the Queen had requested it in case things became heated over the evening. The next night he would be meeting Stiles at the Inn, and the thought of Stiles made him grin as he fought.

They’d parted ways happier, and Derek had returned to his room with a stupid grin on his face after Stiles had kissed his cheek goodnight. Laura and Boyd had rolled their eyes–

Suddenly he was on his back, his sword on the ground away from him and a sword pointed at his neck. The squire squinted at him, pleased.

“Second rule of combat, don’t get distracted,” a female voice sounded, and Derek pushed his growl down as he pushed their sword away.

He glared at them as they lifted she helmet off, her brown hair tumbling down. Boyd and the Captain were rushing forward, looking between the two.

“Boyd, stay with his highness. I’ll escort Lady Allison back to the castle” the Captain said gently, putting his hand on her shoulder.

Allison rolled her eyes, letting the Captain lead her away as Derek watched them leave.

 

 

Derek was still angry from the day before, but the Argent girl wouldn’t apologise. He was in the library waiting for the afternoon when he heard her as she was wandering through the stacks with one of the girls from court.

“I’m just surprised he let it go so easily, Allison.”

“He has _no_ reason to hate me, he’s never even talked to me,” Allison replied.

He could hear them getting closer, and she sounded upset more than angry.

“I heard that your aunt was behind the poisoning of the Prince and his father. _And_ that she was pushing for their marriage when your father was trying to keep her out of the negotiations.”                                                                                          

“ _What_?” Allison demanded, her voice surprisingly close.

“I generally wouldn’t listen to the useless gossip that goes around, but my source is not one of those old hags.”

Allison let out a small bout of laughter and the girl joined in. When they walked around the corner, they caught sight of Derek, and he recognised the red hair that frequented his childhood belonging to Lydia. He'd forgotten how much she commandeered attention from the Court, no doubt where she found her informant.

“Oh, Prince Derek, how nice to see you,” Lydia smiled, insincerity dripping from her tone.

“My Lady,” Derek nodded, looking back to his book.

Trying to ignore how much Lydia knew, he stared down at his book. He expected them to move on, but then Allison was walking forward and watching Derek with an irritated expression. “What’s your issue with me, your _highness_?”

“I don’t see why we should be keeping you here when the treaty has been resolved.”

Allison’s expression darkened, her upper lip twitching in what would have been a fierce snarl if she was Laura.

“You think I like being away from my family? That you’re the only ones who suffered from the war?” She asked coldly, her heart thumping louder with her rage.

“Allison,” Lydia says gently, taking her hand and pulling her away.

 

 

Derek and Boyd were walking through one of the empty streets when Boyd stopped him with a hand to his chest. Derek sent him a questioning look, and Boyd shook his head, waiting for a few moments until a figure rounded the corner.

Boyd grabbed them, shoving them against the wall and pulling their hood away.

Allison flicked her scared eyes between the two of them, breath coming in gasps.

“Lady Allison” Boyd sighed, looking frustrated.

“Ser Boyd. Prince Derek,” she acknowledged with a nod each. “How did you know I was following you?”

“I saw you in the courtyard,” Boyd answered.

“And you didn’t say _anything_?” Derek asked his friend with a scowl.

“You going to make her go back to the Castle, Derek?” Boyd raised an eyebrow like he knew Derek wouldn’t.

“ _Yes_.”

“You can’t make me do anything, Derek. I’m coming with you. Maybe then you’ll find an actual reason to hate me. Other than my name, I mean.”

Boyd snorted a laugh and then held his hands up in peace at Derek’s glare. “I’m not saying anything. Unless you plan on dragging her back to her room, you can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

Derek rolled his eyes and started walking, Allison’s quiet _“thank you_ ” to Boyd trailing him all the way to the Inn. Derek sat with his arms crossed, Allison refusing to look at him from where she was sitting opposite while Boyd went and talked to Erica about their room.

He tried to keep his smile contained when Stiles came over, putting three cups on the table. He couldn’t help the smile when Stiles’ touch lingered on his shoulder as he went back to business, and Allison’s eyes widened and she stared at him with bewilderment.

“So, this is where you disappear to?”

“Yes.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but her words were cut off when Boyd came back over with Scott, who was in the middle of a sentence as he put their plates on the table. He trailed off when he caught sight of Allison, his eyes widening slightly and a blush starting on his cheeks.

“You’re… Not Laura?”

Derek tried not to smirk at Scott’s wide eyes, but his smirk died before it even started when he caught sight of a similar expression to Scott’s on Allison’s face.

“No, I’m Allison.”

“Scott. Scott McCall,” he said before rushing off to his duties.

Derek was still trying to comprehend what happened as Boyd sighed and whispered quietly to himself.

_“Fucking hells, this place must be cursed.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jess is the greatest for putting up with my nagging and Madison is the greatest as well because I wouldn't stop calling her during the week demanding she help me with various parts of chapters. Thank them for I am terrible.
> 
> Also Jess leaves me great footnotes when she betas my shit I couldn't stop giggling when she yelled that they were giants dorks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating change, perhaps you noticed. Also this feels like an apology for future chapters, just fyi. I'm a terrible person. 
> 
> Content warning in this chapter for a few sentences referring to past sexual abuse.

Stiles was in the middle of his round when Scott grabbed his arm. “Scott?”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Scott breathed out, eyes wide.

“You okay, buddy?” He asked, removing Scott’s hand from his bicep.

Scott smiled, nodding quickly. “Derek’s friend. Allison. She’s. Wow.”

Stiles tried to bite down on his smile, pursing his lips and nodding. “Scott, try full sentences if you go and talk to her, okay?”

If Stiles thought Scott’s eyes couldn’t get any wider, he’d be wrong. They got wider and almost fearful, Stiles trying his hardest not to laugh as his friend’s face turned into one of embarrassment. “I made a fool of myself, Stiles, oh gods; she probably thinks I’m an idiot–”

Stiles cast a glance over at Derek’s table, where Boyd had his face buried in his hands and Derek looked like he didn’t know what was happening, while the girl who could only be Allison was sitting there with a blush on her pale cheeks and smiling down at her plate.

And well, their food wasn’t _that_ good.

“Scotty, listen to me when I say this,” Stiles said seriously, and Scott watched him determinedly. “Allison is probably just as enamoured as you are. Next time you talk to her, just… Make sure you show her you’re not just a pretty face, alright?”

“What am I meant to say?”

Stiles smiled, picking up the dirty plates as Scott trailed after him. “Just be yourself. Talk to her about your armour or something, I don’t know.”

“Do you think she’d want to talk about that?”

He pushed the back door open with his shoulder and put the plates into the crate for washing before he turned back to Scott, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Judging by both of your expressions, she’d be okay with it. Maybe even ask if tomorrow you can take her to the blacksmith and show her how yours is going.”

He could see Scott thinking over the idea, before an eager smile stretched over Scott’s face and he hugged Stiles. “Thanks, Stiles.”

“I love you too, Scott.”

Scott rushed inside, and Stiles smiled to himself as he sorted out the crates until Erica’s voice sounded behind him. “I thought Scott was going to leave the blacksmith to help his mom all day.”

“I don’t think he wants to leave Lahey’s son alone.”

“Isaac?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says as he lifts one of the crates of clean plates to be brought inside for the next day.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the McCall’s have hearts of gold.”

Stiles smiles when she holds the door open for him. “At least somebody has, these days.”

“Lucky we've got two, huh?”

Stiles nods, looking around the busy room to try and find Scott. He finds him talking with Allison by the hearth. Erica follows his gaze and gets a small smirk on her face, nudging him with her shoulder.

When the customers start to retreat to their rooms, Erica quietly asks “I was hoping I could steal our room tonight?”

Stiles looks to her, mouth open in abrupt surprise before he can find it in himself to swallow and nod. “Yeah, I mean– if you sure you’re okay… With that?”

Erica bites her bottom lip, her own nervous habit. “I think… I think I want to. I mean, I know I want too, but I think I’m ready.”

“I’m proud of you no matter what you choose. You know that, right?” Stiles can’t stop himself from reaching forward and pulling her into a hug, burying his nose into the crook of her neck. Stiles smooths her hair down, untangling a few of the bottom curls. “Do you want my knife, just in case?”

Erica coughed out a laugh and when he pulled away Erica met his sad smile before she punched him in the arm. “You’re going to make me cry, you ass.”

She ruffled his hair and took a deep breath, setting her shoulders back. “Do you want me to help you finish up?”

Stiles shook his head, taking the towel rag from her hands. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Erica started to move before she paused, turning back to Stiles. “I know you don’t...” She struggled to find the words, but Stiles knew what she was trying to say.

“I’ll think about it.”

“You do have a room to yourself tonight,” she said with a soft smile.

Stiles rolled his eyes, turning to the nearest table top. “Go have fun, Erica.”

He could see her hesitate in his peripheral before she moved away; going over to where he presumed Boyd was sitting. People started to file out, and he could make out Scott showing Allison what would be her and Derek’s room before he retired himself. Erica and Boyd passed him later, her hand in his going towards their room. The longer Stiles cleaned, the more he started to realise he wasn’t completely alone. He looked over his shoulder and Derek was still sitting at his table, eyes transfixed onto the wood grain he was trailing his fingers over.

Stiles walked over and Derek looked up, a soft smile on his face. He wasn’t even sure if Derek was aware that he was doing it whenever he looked at Stiles, but it always made him want to blush like an innocent virgin. He stamped the feeling down as always, quirking his lips in a normal smile. “It’s getting late, Derek.”

He sighs. “I know. I’m just trying to avoid going back to my room.”

Stiles frowns, sitting down on a chair opposite him. “What’s wrong with your room?”

Derek’s brows sink into a frown, shaking his head. “Nothing wrong with the room. The problem is that I’m not on great terms with Allison.”

Stiles looks to the ceiling, thinking it over. “Well, perhaps you should try being on better terms? I’m all for holding grudges–”

“Really? I hadn’t guessed,” Derek deadpans.

Stiles grins as he looks back at Derek, raising his eyebrows. “–but I have a feeling Allison is going to be here a _lot_ in the future.”

“It was obvious, wasn’t it,” he teases.

“Please, it can probably be seen from the heavens.”

Derek laughs, his beautiful eyes crinkling at the sides. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Mmm, I usually am.”

“You’re trying to kick me out, aren’t you?”

Stiles smirks, scrunching his nose. “I was trying to be subtle.”

Derek stands, kissing Stiles’ cheek on his way past. “Sleep well, Stiles.”

The touch feels like its burning through him and then Derek is already gone before he can reply.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs to the empty room. “Derek…”

 

 

After blowing out all the candles, Stiles makes his way through the darkness to the spare room Melissa kept for him in case he wanted to stop sleeping in a room with Erica. After Scott found them on his way back from the blacksmith, down an alley and Erica pleading Stiles for just a few more steps, he practically carried Stiles to their Inn and laid Stiles down on one of the beds while Melissa had scrambled for supplies.

Stiles unlaced his boots and stripped his clothes, gently placing his dagger and necklace on the bed stand. He sighed as he pulled on the shirt and pants before he laid himself down on the mattress.

What Erica tried to say was repeating itself in his head, as was Derek’s gentle kiss. Nothing else had happened since he’d kissed Derek before he’d panicked when Derek had tried to get his hands under his shirt.

It wasn’t a _bad_ feeling, having Derek’s hands on him, but he didn’t want Derek to see the marred flesh and ask questions he wasn't ready to answer. The feeling of his hands on his hips brought forward the onslaught of memories of hands gripping too tight they bruised; scratches so deep they bled; an ass so sore he could barely walk; it made him want to cry. So he’d turned away, and Erica had held him that night to chase away the nightmares.

He stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours, undecided. Erica was right, after all. He needed to start letting himself enjoy things. He hadn’t done anything for himself or bedded anyone since they’d left. She would give him the time to if he asked her, but he could never bring himself to take that step.

Stiles drummed his fingers against his chest, lightly dragging his thumb over a nipple. He closed his eye to the feeling, letting his hand trail lower and think about the kiss he shared with Derek.

The taste of his mouth, of his tongue licking into Derek’s mouth…

His fingers trace over his slowly hardening cock, and he swallowed at the sensation.

He could do this.

No one could hurt him.

He was in control.

With a deep breath he shoved his pants down, licking his hand and letting his palm curl around himself. With a heavy exhale he slowly started to pump, letting his mind imagine Derek slowly working him open with those fingers, what it would be like if he had that tongue buried in his ass. How his stubble would feel dragging against his cheeks.

Stiles’ breathing was getting faster as he worked himself over, each pull and twist of his palm driving him closer. He bit his lip to stop from making any noise when he thumbed at the slit of his cock, smearing precome further over himself.

He was fully hard now, and Stiles imagined what it would be like to ride him, slowly but surely as he would trail his hands over Derek’s firm chest as Derek’s hips pumped into him, fist gripping Stiles’ hard cock as he rocked up. The _noises_ Derek would make, going by what he knew – what he’d never forget after their kiss. He would try to be quiet, obviously, but Stiles would make him shout and forget everything but Stiles’ name, would tease him and draw it out for as long as he could before they would fall into oblivion together–

His mind drifted to Derek saying goodnight, that gentle kiss, and all Stiles could imagine was Derek peppering his face with kisses afterwards, kissing him like he deserved it, like he was the only thing Derek could ever want in the world–

With a strangled gasp, Stiles came, breathing heavily as he reached for his already dirty shirt, wiping his hand on the material.

He pulled his pants back up, breathing through his nose as he tried to get comfortable in the quiet room. He forced his mind away from Derek and the direction his mind had gone to. It wouldn’t happen. He knew that. Good things didn’t happen to Stiles.

 

 

Erica and Scott couldn’t stop smiling the next morning when they came out, and Stiles rolled his eyes at the pair of them. “Stop smiling, you both look like fools.”

They only grinned harder, Erica kissing Stiles on the cheek as she made her way passed.

“Did you think about what I said?” Stiles keeps his eyes on the bread he’s slicing, determinedly ignoring her presence right by his side. “I’m proud of you too, Stiles,” she says with one of her soft smiles and then he was being pulled into a hug from the side and there was nothing he could do.

“It… It felt good, Erica.”

She nods against his shoulder before she leans up and kisses his temple. “I know. I felt good too.”

Stiles smiles at her and she lets him go, pulling out the cold meat for carving.

They work until Melissa comes down after dawn, greeting them all tiredly. It was in the quiet mornings like this where he was reminded that he had a family now – albeit a small one, but it was a family nevertheless. He wouldn’t give Scott or Melissa up for anything, because they had given he and Erica happiness. Something real.

When Derek came down with Allison and Boyd, Stiles felt all the emotions from the night before sweep through him, and he forced himself to watch the other’s reactions to distract himself. Allison’s sweet smile at Scott’s greeting, Boyd watching Erica _so_ fondly as she walked passed that Stiles couldn’t help but look to Derek to get away from the idea. Derek’s cheeks flushed a bright red when he met Stiles’ eyes before he hurriedly looked away to involve himself in their tables conversation.

Stiles pushed away the smile that was threatening, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded when Melissa raised her eyebrow at him, a restrained smile on her own face. “Now those two I understand, but what’s got you trying to hide your smile?”

Stiles shakes his head an pokes his tongue out at her like a child and she smiles and passes him a plate. “He’s adorable when he blushes.”

“I’m trying not to think about it, Melissa,” he says before he goes and serves up the breakfast to the next table.

Melissa makes a face at him when he returns, grabbing his hand to make him stop and listen. “Stiles, you’re young. You should be doing what Scott and Erica are doing.”

“Neglecting their chores?” He asks sarcastically.

She rolls her eyes at him, giving him a put upon sigh. “Having fun, falling in love. I know you think that’s not possible, but I’m going to tell you something and I’m only going to say it this one time.”

“I’m listening.”

“The world won’t end just because you’ve been hurt. I know you won't tell me what happened, but... When my husband left, I thought it was the end. How was I supposed to raise Scott on my own in this place? But I did. And he was the only love I had for years. I thought it was just going to be me and him until he left what we have for the Lahey’s permanently. Then you and Erica come along and I can’t imagine it any other way. You’re my kids, and I found myself loving you three trouble makers. You’re allowed to make mistakes, Stiles. They’re not all bad ones.”

Stiles smiled through his clenched jaw, blinking back his tears. He took the next plates that she gave him, meeting her eye. “For what it’s worth… I wish you were my mom.”

He can see the tears in her eyes and he turns away, taking in steady breathes as he works.

The next time he catches Derek’s eye, Stiles can’t help but feel his stomach flip.

 

 

Walking through the streets with Erica after lunch to fetch Scott had started out from Melissa’s suggestion to help him build his strength back up when he could walk again. They hadn’t told her where he’d gotten his injuries, hadn’t told her about their past, and she had nodded and taken them in any way.

Erica pushed open the door to the blacksmith’s and Isaac gave them a hesitant smile from where he was sketching a design in charcoal, with Scott over by the forge.

Scott called out to them and started his final touches, and Stiles sat by Isaac.

“What are you working on?”

“Just some ideas,” he said quietly.

Erica caught Stiles’ eye and nods, going to keep an eye out for Isaac’s father. It was something they’d both noticed during Isaac’s quieter days – the disappearance of the blacksmith.

Stiles reached over slowly, giving Isaac time to pull away. He didn’t.

“You remember what we said?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Stiles.”

Stiles nods, looking back down at the arrowhead design. “Arrows?”

“When Allison was here yesterday she mentioned she was good at archery.”

“It’s a good design, Isaac. You should show her next time she comes down.”

Isaac gave him one of his rare smiles, and then he puts down the piece of charcoal and turns back a few pages. Stiles could see the design, but then Isaac tears out the page and hands it to Stiles. A helmet design, shaped like a wolf’s head. Stiles smirked at the drawing, the ideas of the Hales talking to wolves seemed to run in all Circles, it seemed.

“Allison said that Derek was friends with the blacksmith in the palace.”

“You want me to give this to Derek?”

Isaac looks over his shoulder to where Scott is working before he nods. “I want an opinion on it.”

Stiles smiles and folds the page before tucking it into his pocket, when Erica comes in just as Scott is wiping his hands, Isaac’s father follows minutes later. He stops short when he sees Stiles and Erica sitting with Isaac, who had turned back to his designs.

“Collecting Scott?”

“Yes sir,” Erica nods.

He makes a sound that sounds like acknowledgement, but Stiles lingers as the others walk out the door. Isaac looks up at him when he realises, and he shakes his head and looks back at his father before back to Stiles.

Stiles sighs and pushes the door open, trailing behind Scott and Erica the whole way home.

 

 

Isaac’s face had lit up when Stiles told him Derek’s reaction to the helmet design; how Derek had stared at it before looking up at Stiles and asking if he could meet whoever drew it. Allison had leaned over and asked if it was Isaac’s, and Derek had passed it to Boyd, who gave a soft laugh.

Derek had come with him to pick up Scott that day and he’d shook Isaac’s hand and told him that his design was beautiful. Isaac had shrugged and had plunged the horseshoe into the barrel of water, and Derek has told him that the blacksmith at the castle wanted to meet him.

Isaac’ head shot up, looking around the room to find his father, who was preoccupied with Scott. He looked back at them and nodded quickly and Derek had smiled and told him he’d come find him before he went back to the First Circle.

They were talking that night after Stiles had finished cleaning up when Stiles felt like he was going to be overwhelmed by Derek’s wide smiles as he laughed at Stiles’ lame jokes.

He didn’t want to lose this.

His mouth opened without thought.

“Would you bed me?” Derek stared at him, green eyes boring into his and Stiles realised what he’d said. “Uh– sorry, I don’t know why I even–”

Derek stopped him with a soft touch of his hand. “I would, if that… If that’s what you wanted.”

Stiles brought his hand up to his necklace, out of habit, twisting the chain in his fingers as he looked away from Derek. Everything Erica had said and everything she hadn’t or _couldn’t_ say, everything Melissa had said – he had been thinking about all of them for weeks now.

“I think I do,” he admitted weakly.

He gave him one of those smiles that made Stiles’ heart twist, Derek’s thumb trailing over the skin on the back of his hand. Stiles stood up from his chair, linking his fingers through Derek’s as he started to put the candles out. When the one remained, he lead Derek through the dark hall with the single light and into the empty room, closing the door behind them and pushing Derek gently to sit on the bed while he put the iron bracket on the bed stand. Derek’s hands went to Stiles’ waist, caressing him in a movement that felt too gentle, too much, in the soft light of the flame.

He pushed himself forward, his lips going to Derek’s solely for him, for _them_ , and Derek kissed him back, licking into Stiles’ mouth like he’d wanted nothing else.

For the first time in possibly his whole life, it didn’t feel like he was going through the motions. He _wanted_ this, wanted Derek, and Derek wanted _him_.

He put his knees on the bed, straddling Derek’s legs, breaking away to breath. Derek didn’t stop, kissing across his jaw, biting softly down the skin of his neck.

Stiles pushed his hips down onto Derek’s and Derek’s hard length pressed against his. Derek gasped against his neck, breathing in at his collar and his facial hair scratched at the tender bitten skin and it was as good as Stiles imagined it being.

He shifted off of Derek and onto the mattress beside him, hastily tugging his boots off as Derek realised he should be doing the same. When Derek stood to start stripping, Stiles pulled him close by the waist.

His fingers were moving quickly, eagerly unhooking his belt and unlacing the ties of his pants. Stiles swallowed thickly as his hands started to shake, Derek catching them and pressing soft kisses to them before he toyed with the hem of his shirt.

Stiles watched, enraptured as Derek’s pulled the material over his head, his muscles tensing. He couldn’t figure out where to stare; all of Derek was beautiful. His eyes flitted from Derek’s face down his body, eventually coming to pause on the trail of hair leading down from his navel.

He leaned forward, nosing along the line and Derek sighed above him. With a smirk, Stiles gently dragged his teeth along Derek’s skin and Derek let out a shuddering noise.

Stiles couldn’t wait to draw the rest out of him.

He skimmed his fingers under the waistline of Derek’s pants, kissing the skin once before sliding them down Derek’s toned thighs. When they dropped to the ground Derek stepped out of them, looking over Stiles’ face and sliding his hand over Stiles’ jaw.

Stiles looked down, Derek’s thick cock fattening against his leg. Stiles moved forward, breathing against the hot skin and wrapping his hands around Derek’s thighs.  He let his tongue tease the shaft before drawing the head of Derek’s cock into his mouth.

Derek swore above him and Stiles felt a wave of _want_ shoot through him, letting himself take Derek deeper into his mouth. He pushed away all the other feelings, all the memories of not being able to _breathe_ as they held him down, instead letting the touch of Derek’s fingers resting in his hair ground him and center him.  He tongued at the slit of Derek’s cock and Derek fucking _whined_ above him, pulling him off and dragging his thumb against Stiles’ bottom lip.

Stiles kissed the digit and Derek’s throat bobbed as he swallowed before Stiles let go of his legs and reached for his own belt. He fumbled with the latch a few times when Derek stopped him, looking down at him hopefully. “May I?”

He nods, Derek’s fingers pulling the leather out of its hold and dropping it to the ground. Stiles lay back as he watched Derek unlace his pants, lifting his hips for them to slide down. When Derek’s hands slid up his legs and up to his hips, Stiles closing his eyes as he let out a sigh.

The warmth of his palms were addicting as they pushed his shirt up, but Stiles went still. The idea of him seeing his back, seeing the twisted skin of his scars, Stiles fought to control his breathing. Derek noticed, halting his movements. “Stiles? Are you okay?”

Stiles took a deep lungful of air and forced himself to open his eyes. Derek was looking down at him, eyes wide and worrying. Stiles tried to make himself laugh and say that he fine, but it came out weak and shaky and Derek took his hands off of his torso.

“If you don’t want to do this, it’s okay, Stiles–”

“No, Derek, no, I do, I do want to, I just… How do you want to do this?”

 Derek’s gaze flicked back and forth over Stiles’ face before he leaned down and kissed Stiles’ forehead. “I want to do whatever you want to do.”

That– that was okay.

Stiles smiled at him, just a quiet thankful smile and he put Derek’s soft hands back on his stomach. “On my back. I want to see you.”

The smile Derek sent him made his heart stop. He pulled Derek down on him, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. The feeling of Derek drawing his shirt over his ribs made him lift his arms as they moved apart and he lay back as quickly as he could.

Derek's hand wrapped around their cocks and Stiles shivered as Derek sucked kisses onto his neck. Stiles’ fingers slid into Derek’s dark hair, and Derek groaned as Stiles tugged.

“ _Gods_ , the sounds you make, Derek…”

Derek breathes into his neck, flicking his thumb and spreading precome over them both. Stiles gasped and he felt Derek’s teeth as he smiled against him. “You’re one to talk.”

Stiles hadn’t felt this way before, someone pleasuring _him_ because they could and it made him feel so empty. “I want you inside of me,” he breathed.

Derek paused in stroking their cocks and came up to hover over Stiles. “Are you sure?”

“Completely,” Stiles whispered. “In– in the draw…”

Derek turned his head and looked to the bed stand, reaching over and pulling it open. Stiles bit back his smile as Derek’s eyes widened and he reached in and pulled out the vial of oil, looking back to Stiles. “Plan this, did you?”

Stiles shook his head. “Never knew when I’d need it.”

He made sure to cut himself off before he said _again._

Derek huffed out a quiet laugh as he pressed his lips against Stiles’. Stiles grabbed the pillow behind his head and shoved it under his hips when Derek pulled away and started to trail his hands over his body.

He watches intently as Derek uncorks the bottle, spreading the golden liquid over his fingers. Derek’s heated stare as he spreads his legs makes his cock twitch against his stomach as he reaches down, circling his finger over Stiles’ rim.

The feeling of Derek slowly playing with him, pushing his finger in to the tip and stretching him gently, its more than Stiles has felt in months. It’s better than he’s ever had, and by someone who looks at him like he hung him the moon.

Derek slides his finger in and Stiles lets out a breathy moan. Derek smirks down at him and pumps his finger, spreading the oil around his hole. He pushes his next finger into Stiles carefully, and Stiles groans at the feeling. God, it’s so–

Stiles bites down hard on his lip to keep quiet when Derek brushes past his prostate. Derek’s breathing as heavily as Stiles is and he scissors his fingers, adding more oil to his fingers as he slips three into him.

He sighs at the feeling and he hears Derek murmuring sweet nothings above him. He wasn’t paying attention at first, but Derek’s tone makes him.

“Gods, _Stiles_ , you drive me insane–”

“ _Derek_ ,” he breathes, and Derek stares down into his eyes. His eyes have always been gorgeous, but Stiles gets distracted by how dark they are, the thin ring of green almost swallowed by the overblown pupil. “I’m ready, gods, I’m so ready–”

Derek nods, distracted, and he pulls his fingers out. He tries not to whine at the emptiness, but the look Derek sends him tells him he didn’t succeed.

Stiles teases his hand over his own cock as he watches Derek slick himself up, and the hungry stare as Derek’s eyes trace over his body makes him squirm.

“You’re so beautiful” he murmurs, and Stiles takes hold the hand Derek has on his hip, tangling their fingers together.

Derek smiles at him, brilliant and blinding; before he lines himself up and when Stiles feels him gently push the head of his cock in, Stiles inhales sharply before he reminds himself to relax. He takes Derek’s other hand, gripping on tight. Derek pushes in, slowly and carefully until his balls are resting against Stiles’ ass.

Stiles waits for him to move, but Derek doesn’t. “Derek?”

“Give me a moment–” Stiles waits and lets himself get used to the feeling of Derek’s thick cock inside of him before he grins, rolling his hips in a small circle. Derek lets out a shuddering breath, shaking his head at Stiles’ smile. “You’re a menace.”

“Come on, Derek, _please_ ,” he whines, and then Derek rocks his hips against Stiles’ and his breath catches.

Derek gives him a shit-eating grin, pushing their linked hands by Stiles’ head as he builds up a rhythm.

With each push and pull, their breathing gets harder and faster, Stiles gasping at the feeling of Derek inside of him. It’s so different to what it could be; no more shameless moaning to make them think they’re doing a good job. Derek doesn’t need it, because Stiles is so aroused he can’t seem to make his throat work, and then Derek thrusts into him and hits his prostate at an angle that makes him cry out.

Derek moans, tightening his grip on Stiles’ hands and Stiles squeezes back. He’s murmuring Stiles’ name, over and over like a plea and Stiles feels himself growing closer to the edge. They’re not kissing, more breathing against each other’s mouths and Stiles bites Derek’s bottom lip, pulling it down into a bruising kiss.

“ _Stiles_.”

“Derek, I’m so close.”

Derek whimpers against his mouth, untangling one of their hands and curling his fingers around Stiles’ length. Stiles feels a spasm go through him as Derek strokes.

“Gods, _Derek_.”

Derek meets his eyes and Stiles comes undone, crying out as his orgasm jolts through his body. He gasps against Derek as he continues to stroke and push into him.

Derek goes silent; breath choking out of him as Stiles clenches tight and he feels Derek spill inside of him.

Stiles feels himself start to want to push Derek away from, out of old routine. He tries to push it away, to focus on Derek, who’s panting heavily against his cheek. He feels him pull out and lay down beside him and then he realises that Derek is petting him softly, murmuring those sweet nothings again.

“Shhh, Stiles, _shhh_ , it’s okay, I’m here,” he whispers.

Stiles feels the wetness fall down his face and he realises he’s crying. Derek is holding him, touching him like he’s precious and it feels like it’s too much. He feels Derek press his lips against his forehead, down his face, soft presses like a butterfly’s wings, and Derek is _so much more_ than he ever hoped, and it _hurts_.

“Stiles, _Stiles_ , it’s okay, I’m _sorry_ , I’m sorry, if I hurt you please tell me what I did–”

Stiles shakes his head, taking one of Derek’s wandering hands and presses them to his lips. “You didn’t– you didn’t hurt me, I swear, _Derek_ , I’m sorry, I’m just…”

Derek stares at him and Stiles knows he can’t hide from Derek’s searching look. He presses another kiss onto Derek’s knuckles and Derek pulls Stiles’ hand to his lips and kisses him back.

“You’re too good for me, Derek.”

Derek shakes his head, looking at him sadly. “You’re wrong. You deserve better than me.”

Stiles snorts, pressing his forehead against Derek’s. “Will you stay?”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles woke the next morning with a heavy weight across his chest. It took him several moments to realise it was Derek, one arm draped over Stiles and his peaceful face pressed into Stiles’ shoulder as he slept. Stiles couldn’t help but smile to himself, curling his fingers through the soft black hair atop of Derek’s head. There was a low rumble from Derek, from deep within his chest and Stiles let out a small breath of laughter when he mumbled against Stiles’ skin. “No, ’s too early.”

“I didn’t know the Hales marked their servants,” Stiles notes with a small frown, his fingers trailing down onto the black swirls of ink between Derek’s shoulder blades. Derek looks up at him blearily, a squint to his features. “Your tattoo,” he says with a firm sweep of fingers over his skin.

“They don’t,” Derek explains. “I got this after the War ended. It was a way to… To remember the sacrifices people made. The arms, they mean a different thing–”

“Past, present, future. I know” Stiles nods, taking note of Derek’s apprehensive look. “There was a man I used to know, he… He taught me the families of the Kingdom. He taught me a lot, actually,” Stiles says bitterly.

“What happened to him?”

“He left me and Erica to die so he could lick at the boots of the Hales.” Derek tensed beside him, and Stiles felt guilty for the blatant disregard he showed towards people Derek obviously thought more of. “Sorry. I– I shouldn’t say those things to you. I know how you feel about them.”

Derek shifted his weight so he was looking over Stiles, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry they ever made you feel that way. If they’d known…”

“Don’t,” Stiles says gently. “Tell me about the tattoo.”

Derek chastely presses his lips to Stiles’ and he sighs as his face rearranges to contemplation. “When I was little, there was no real difference between the children in the palace. It was like we were all best friends… It was before the war. People went away, I grew up separated but we all still had those memories. The Captain, I told you about him, he used to be so happy before the war. I can remember his wife, but she was one of the first to die when the suicides happened.”

“What crest were they?”

“Do you know the Golden Rose?”

“The–” Stiles paused, thinking them all through. “The Stilinski family?”

“That’s right. He’d been on the front lines for only a few years before she killed herself. When he came back after the winter to sort out our allies… He just closed off. No one saw him for weeks. I was twelve when he finally returned.”

“Did you know his wife well? How old were you when the fighting started?”

“I was eight when everything began. And no, I didn’t know her well,” Derek laid his head back down on Stiles’ shoulder, his fingers drifting over Stiles’ chest. “She didn’t like Court. I used to see her wandering the library, but it was so long ago now. When the King came back and the war was over, he barely spoke to his children. They– he was poisoned. So was the Prince. Two years ago. The prince nearly died, but… the King didn’t make it.”

“Did they ever find who did it?”

“No, they always had their suspicions about who had done it but it was never proven. They were still trying to negotiate the terms of the treaty. The announcement would have created more fighting.”

“Argents?” He feels Derek shrug against him. “They could have been bitter about how things turned out.”

“Only some of them. The Lord Argent, he was quiet but he was smart. He’d lost his wife, he didn’t want to lose his daughter as well. I know I… his _highness_ … I know that he thought it was his sister, Lady Katherine, but there was barely any evidence.”

“Could it have been someone from the Court?”

“For their sake, I hope not.”

They were silent for a long while, dragging their fingers over each other’s skin. Stiles thought about the information, let it filter through what he knew… If they had been poisoned two years ago, it would have been entirely possible that it was _Deaton_ who had struggled to save the members of the Royal family. He felt a surge of shame go through him at the memory of it all, but then he was being distracted by the press of Derek’s tongue on his collarbone as he pressed kisses into his skin while his fingers played with a piece of the chain around his neck. It was only then that he remembered he had forgotten to take it off the night before.

“I– do you remember how I said I found my necklace on the street?”

Derek is quiet and Stiles feels him shift to look up at him from his shoulder. “Yes, why?”

“I… I lied to you. My mother she… She gave it to me. It’s the only thing I have left of her.”

“Stiles…”

He takes a deep breath and looks down at Derek, giving him a tight smile. He watches as Derek looks down at the intricate twisting lines that curled up and over the tight center which Stiles could never quite figure out with the dirt he could clean, turning it over in his fingers.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

 

 

Derek had gone back to his room when Stiles had said he needed to get ready for the day, watching intently as Derek had put his clothes back on. He’d kept his back to the wall, determined for Derek not to see his scars, and Derek had cupped his cheek and kissed him deeply before he left. Stiles couldn’t stop smiling as he pulled on clean clothes, pulling his blade out of his pants from the day previous and sticking it in his pocket. He scrambled downstairs after pulling on his boots, wrapping Erica in a hug from behind when he caught sight of her. She leant back into his arms before he let her go, trying not to smile as brightly as he wanted to. He could still feel the faint ache from the night before, but it was nothing like he’d experienced before. It was a good ache.

Scott’s eyes widened when he looked up from slicing the bread, staring at Stiles. He’d tried to find a collared shirt, but he had nothing to hide the dark marks that Derek had sucked into his neck. Erica followed Scott’s stare, only to burst out laughing.

“Oh, Stiles…” He couldn’t fight his grin as he brushed Erica’s hair back, pressing his fingers into the dark mark that had been hidden by her hair. She closed her eyes and sighed, nudging his shoulder gently. “Are you okay?”

Stiles nods, smiling brightly as he looks through the kitchen. Erica points over to the opposite bench, and he finds the cheese he was looking for to slice.

“How have both of you had sex but not me?” Scott whines.

Stiles smiles at his friend and blows him a kiss. Scott rolls his eyes and smiles at Stiles, the joy clear as day on his face.

Another thing he loved about the McCall’s; they wore their hearts on their sleeve. They had never lied to them, and Stiles trusted them with all his heart.

“It’ll happen one day, Scott. Maybe if you ask Allison…”

“I think I love her,” Scott almost whispers. Erica drops the dirty plate she’s holding, it clanging to the ground as they stare at him. Scott looked so nervous, almost afraid, and _gods_ , how could Stiles not have expected it.

“Scott…”

“Oh gods, it’s too soon, isn’t it?”

Stiles can’t help laughter that bubbles up inside of him, and the hurt look on Scott’s face makes him take his friend’s shoulders as he shakes his head. “Scotty, no, I’m not laughing at you– I’m happy for you.”

“You are?”

He cuffs his hand against the back of Scott’s head. “No, I don’t care about your happiness at all– of course I care, Scott, what kind of brother do you think I am?”

“Then why did you laugh?”

“You took me by surprise. A good surprise.” Scott smiles at him, a hopefully little smile. “If you love Allison, you should tell her. You don’t have to have sex to show your affection for someone. That’s just how Erica and I… It's just how we are.”

Scott swallows, looking between them and nodding. “I started designing a ring,” he mumbles.

Stiles feels his smile overtake his whole face as he pulls Scott into a tight hug, proud and happy and overwhelmed. “I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

Erica’s arms circle behind Scott and they surround him in a hug, and she’s making these little cooing noises and then hits them both when they all separate, wiping at her eyes. “I hate you both, stop making me cry.”

Scott hugs Erica again, murmuring quiet words to her that Stiles knows he doesn’t need to hear. He knows the variation of them, anyway. When he could barely move when the McCall pair had taken them in, Scott had spent a lot of time with Erica because Stiles couldn’t. So he’d learnt that she hated crying, how crying was often met with pain. He always tried to show her it wasn’t bad to cry.

He and Erica still flinched on the occasion they did cry, and they saw how it tore Melissa’s and Scott’s hearts to see.

 

 

Stiles was walking with Derek to the blacksmith so he could fetch Isaac when Derek had pulled him into a dark pathway, breathing heavily like he had run a mile.

“Derek? What’s wrong?” Stiles asked frantically, trying to look back out to the main street.

“Guards.”

Stiles frowns, confused. “They patrol the streets almost every day–”

Derek shakes his head, resting his hands on Stiles’ hips. “Sorry, I just… I panicked. I didn’t expect to see them.”

Stiles smirks him, bemused. “We can avoid them if you want. You’re not supposed to be out of the palace, are you?” Derek meets his eyes and Stiles huffs out something between a laugh and a snort, rolling his eyes before he presses a kiss to Derek’s mouth.

He’s swept up in a frantic kiss before he forces himself to pull back before they started to grope each other right then and there. “Come on, it’s not that far.”

His hand is entwined in Derek’s as they walk, Derek telling him about how Boyd keeps smiling whenever they’re leaving to come into the Second Circle, and Stiles laughs as he tells him about Erica’s failed attempts of trying to hide her marks from Stiles. Derek smirks and looks far too pleased with himself when Stiles squeaks after he pressed a finger against the larger one on Stiles’ neck.

Determined to change the subject, Stiles latches onto the first thought he can. “So is it true what they say about the Hales?”

Derek looks at him inquisitively. “Is what true?”

“That they can talk to their wolf pets?”

Derek turns his head back to the street, glowering slightly. “The wolves aren’t their pets. They live in the castle with them in the winter, but they’re not their pets.”

“Is it true though?”

Derek smiles at Stiles, shrugging. “I’ve heard that they can turn into wolves themselves.”

“Have you ever seen it?”

Stiles watches Derek’s jaw tighten as he looks away from him, his whole body rigid with tension as his eyes dart back and forth across the street. Stiles looks down at their entwined hands and he feels like such a _liar_ for not telling Derek about his past. What would he think of him? He’d be disgusted by him– by everything. But then Derek knocks his chin up with a knuckle, a soft smile on his face and his face is open and his eyes are honest.

“I have.”

Stiles can’t help the stunned laughter that comes out of him and Derek’s face falls, but Stiles tightens his grip in Derek’s when he tries to pull away. “That sounds incredible, Derek. I believe you.”

Derek smiles at him again and lifts his hand and cups Stiles’ face, trailing his thumb on the skin of Stiles’ cheek. “You know in all the time I’ve known you I’ve never heard you laugh as much as you have in the past month.”

Stiles presses his lips together as he tries to hide his smile. He fails.

“Neither have I.”

 

 

He was making his way back from the river out by the East Wall later that day with Erica, buckets in hand when he thought he saw a flash of brown hair turn a corner. Erica said she hadn’t seen anything, so Stiles ignored it, going back to the Inn with the water for the dishes when he heard the cry further ahead. He shot a glance at Erica, who shook her head as he started to place the buckets down.

“Stiles, it’s not our business–”

“Erica, you don’t have to come with me. I’m just checking it out.”

She sighed and put her pails down too, following him through the quieter streets until they found the source of the noise. At the back of the alley, a woman is being pressed face first against a building by a darker woman.

There was a figure standing nearby, looking over at Stiles and Erica when they stopped so suddenly. Stiles’ stomach dropped when he recognised the clouded eyes staring at them.

Erica gasped and Stiles started pushing her away from the alley, away from the memory, of after the war when the soldiers were vicious, how they’d both bled at the hands of the Blind Lord.

“Erica, run, _go_ –”

“Stiles, no–”

“Go to Melissa and _stay_ there!” He whispered, pushing her away while he tried to back away from the alley. But then that voice made him stop short.

“I remember your scent,” he said and the two women stopped struggling and the one holding the woman back turned to look at him.

“Duke?” She asked, pushing the woman’s face further on into the wall as she tried to escape.

“Do you remember him, Kali? The little whore boy from the Third circle. You’ve moved up to a wealthier brothel in the world, I see.”

Stiles swallows, looking back and forth between the three and he tries to keep his breathing even. “Let her go.”

The Blind Lord– Duke, she had said, tilts his head and steps closer to Stiles. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. She’s stolen something that was mine.”

The woman struggles, only for a pained gasp to come from her before she tries to spit at the woman holding her. “I lost it, Deucalion” she pleads.

“I know you’re lying,” Deucalion says harshly. “I know you sold it.”

“Please–”

Her voice makes Stiles goes cold, the echo of it like a bad dream and he can’t stop himself from moving forward when all he wants to do, all he _should_ do, is run. Deucalion reaches out and catches his arm and Stiles can’t shrug him off, his grip like a vice. He leans into Stiles’ space and Stiles can’t _move_ , can’t _breathe_ , as the man takes a huge lungful of air right against his skin.

“Still so ripe, just like Harris promised” he breathes against Stiles’ neck and Stiles tries to push him away, trying to get a proper look at the woman. "There's something different about you..."

Kali cocks her head, watching Stiles before she surprises him. “Deucalion, let him go.”

The pressure on his arm is gone and he’s moving forward, one goal in mind as Kali steps away. The woman’s brown hair is tangled and knotted from the struggle, and Stiles is reaching, grasping her shoulder and turning her.

Stiles is shaking and his breath coming in too shallowly and his head is pounding, but he knows her, he _knows_ he knows her, her pale eyes still the same as he so barely remembers.

“… _Mom_?”

Her eyes go wide and frantic as she squirms, trying to look anywhere but his face.

There’s laughter from behind them, harsh and cruel, and then Kali is stepping forward, looking between the two of them.

“Julia, you’ve been holding out on us. If we’d known you’d had such a treat of a son…”

She looks wild and hysterical as Kali reaches out for her, trailing a hand down her face.

“He’s not my son,” she spits out.

“I– I remember you–” Stiles stammers, his heart out of control. Then, calmer, “you– you’re my mother.”

“He’s not lying, Julia,” Kali says with a predatory grin. "Or is it  _Jennifer_ , now?"

The memory of her as she smiled at him, fleeting and quick, of her tucking him into the thin sheet by the hearth to keep him warm as the nights got colder… How one day she stopped letting him play with her hair, stopped speaking to him altogether before passing him over to Harris…

“He’s. Not. _My_. _Son_ ,” she repeats, staring into Kali’s eyes.

“She’s not lying either,” Kali laughs to Deucalion, and Stiles stumbles as he tries to move away.

He feels so cold all of a sudden, trying to remember as much as he can from all those years ago. He finds nothing else.

He’s hyperventilating and he can’t breathe, his legs are collapsing under him under when Kali catches him, holding him tight against her chest and commanding him to focus on her heartbeat. He can’t think about anything, too scared and confused and fucking _terrified_ , but this stranger keeps holding him and telling him to breath, so he does, and the roaring in his ears starts to fade.

He’s still shaking when she asks if he can stand, but he nods and leans against the building and he can’t meet their eyes, too afraid from his memory of Deucalion to look at him.

He hears something almost like a growl but it’s so unfocused before he sees Deucalion step close to Kali, arguing with her about her actions.

“Why did you let her go?”

“What did you want me to _do_? The boy couldn’t _breathe_ , Duke” she snarled.

“It’s not just your soft spot for her?”

“What about the boy? You said he was one of Harris’. We could arrange something…”

Stiles’ breath leaves him, and he forces himself to stay calm and he promises himself that he’s not going to go through that again. He promises himself, he promises Erica; Scott; Melissa; _Derek_ , everyone who has crawled into his heart; that he would never have to do that again. He was almost killed by Harris, but he had found freedom. He wasn’t giving it up without another fight. He’d go through it all again if it meant he was free.

He hears that growling sound again, and he swears by the gods he sees Deucalion’s clouded eyes flash red. He starts to scramble down the path to the right of him, the one which leads to the main street.

Stiles bursts out into the busy street, people striking business and walking between their houses. He sees kids running, kicking the dirt up under their feet, and he takes a deep gulp of breath and lets his feet follow the path up the main way, but that’s when he hears the shout from behind him.

He shouldn’t look, he knows he shouldn’t look, but he throws a glance over his shoulder and sees Kali supporting Deucalion in her arms. Deucalion looks him directly in the eye and smirks, looking beaten and bloody, surrounded by men–the Guards, wrapped in their gold armour.

He pushes himself faster, trying to round a corner, weave his way through the buildings in their familiar maze.

If he can just get back to the Inn–

Stiles hears shouting growing closer as they call to split up and he ducks into a thin gap between two buildings but when he turns, he’s face with a dead end. He tries to catch his breath as quietly as he can, pushing himself into the shadows.

He watches the opening, hoping, _praying_ to all the gods he can, to let him live, let him be free.

Stiles holds his breath as the Guards runs through the street, only for them to run past him, hands on their swords. He stays there for an hour, maybe more, before he crawls out of the break.

He walks through the lanes between the buildings until he get to the main street, keeping an eye out for any guards. He hears the whispers of a whore attacking a Lord, and he remembers why he loathes them the way he does. He didn’t touch _anyone_ , the only explanation was that Kali had–

He can see the road that leads to the Inn and he can’t stop thinking about Erica, how worried she must be because he’s still not home, but then he sees the flash of gold and then he hears a shout, followed by armour shifting together as they move towards him. He tries to act normal, like he’s nothing more than someone trying to make their way home. He’s so close too.

A group of guards round the corner, headed by Kali, who smiles when she sees Stiles. He sees her mouth move and the guards turn towards him, ordering him to stop in the name of the Hales.

There are people beginning to crowd at the commotion, and he can see the faces of the children he’s thrown rocks with at the river, can see people he’s taken care of at the Inn– they’re all faces he knows, families that he’s come to know through an honourable business trade, and they’re all staring as the guards approach him. He turns to look behind him and there are more of them coming, so he can’t run.

He fights back tears when he hears familiar voices, asking what in _hells_ is going on, all three sounding frantic as worn door opens. Erica’s scream of his name when they sees him makes him close his eyes, guards asking them to step back as try to rush forward, this isn’t their business.

Kali strides forward, exclaims loudly that this is the whore who attacked a Lord and threatened her, and she shoves him violently to the ground. Stiles lets them pull him up as harshly as they desire and he doesn’t let himself struggle. The cold press of metal along his back makes him cringe, one of the guards grabbing his arms to move him forward. He spares himself a look to his family, Melissa with her hand on Scott’s shoulder to ground him and hold him back, but a guard is holding Erica around the middle to stop her from coming close. She’s screaming and shouting his name, begging them to stop, they’re wrong, he didn’t do _anything_ , and it’s all too familiar to him.

Stiles forces his body to comply, when all he wants to scream and cry and kill and _protect_. It’s a feeling he’d never thought he’d have to feel again, and he makes his face go blank and Erica stops screaming, stops moving altogether when she sees his face. She shakes her head, knowing him in a way no one else does. She knows he’s surrendering to his fate.

He feels numb when they force him to walk, but the only thing he can depend on is that Derek’s word that the Hales are as generous as he says.

 

 

The First gate looms in front of him, tall and domineering, and Stiles has already resigned himself for the worst. The palace up close is beautiful, its pillars and arches etched with intricate designs, the coloured glass as brilliant as the rest of it. Kali leads the way, the guards keeping their hands on him as he walks with them. He doesn’t see the point in running when he’d just be shot down by the archers. There were too many guards to run from here. Even he’s not that fast.

Stiles can’t help but look around in awe as they walk through the wide doors, the massive open floor with hallways and staircases and tapestries distracting him. One of Stiles’ boots catch on his leg as they push him forward and he falls to the floor, one of the guards pulling him up.

There are people talking, slowly filtering into the open area, all of them going silent when the see Kali leading the guards across the space. He hears a voice shout Kali’s name, and that’s when he realises how deeply _fucked_ he is. Kali pauses, turns back to the voice and the guards follow her.

She stops in front of him and Stiles starts squirming, starts writhing in the guard’s arms as he tries to get away. “ _No, no no no, no, please, no_ ,” he pleads, and he knows he’s getting louder, getting more frantic, because he needs to be anywhere but here.

Harris’ eyes go wide and a vicious smile crosses his face, and Stiles struggles harder. “Anyone, _please,_ anyone but _him_ , get me away from him, _please_!”

He’s screaming, and there are more people coming out of rooms and stairways, but he can’t see any of them but Harris.

Kali turns around and slaps him, effectively cutting his cries off into whimpers.

“Care to explain this… filth, Harris?”

Harris smiles, looking down at Stiles. “He’s one of mine, yes.”

Stiles spits at his face.

“I’m not _yours_ , Harris. You saw to that.”

Harris’ lip twitches and he pushes past Kali, gripping his chin in an old move that Stiles remembers all too well. “You can come back with me or you can let Kali have her way with you. Your choice, _Stiles_.”

The way he spits his name out, Stiles knows that choosing Harris is choosing death. He didn’t die the first time, so Harris would make sure he did when he tried a second time.

“Kali. Any day.”

Stiles didn’t even care that he wasn’t guilty. He’d take anything he could to be away from Harris. Kali smiled when Harris pushed his face away, ordering the guards to take him to the dungeon.

They push him towards the stairs, leading him down the winding steps. It’s a long stretch of brick and dirt before they reach the thick iron door, the man in front of them crossing his arms. “Unlock the door, Parrish,” one of them demands.

“I don’t suppose you’re here on the Captain’s orders?”

“This is no time for your objections.”

The man rolls his eyes, pulling out a ring of keys and turning to the door behind him. It unlocks and with a loud creak it slowly creeps forward as Parrish pulls, giving way to darkness. Parrish removes a flaming torch out of its cradle in the wall, leading them through the pitch black to an iron grating of a cage.

It opened with a squeal and then hands were groping him, searching and pulling out his knife and pulling off his belt before he was unceremoniously shoved to the ground. Stiles inhaled the dust that was kicked up by his disturbance. There was a knee on his back pressing him into the ground as they clutched at his feet and tore off his shoes.

“Kali was right. Whores don’t fight,” one of them said. “Maybe you’ll get some more patrons during the night, boy.”

“Ennis, I will cut your cock off if you ever come back down here without the Captain, I swear by the gods,” Parrish snaps. A hard kick knocks the air out of him and rolls him over onto his back and Stiles’ eyes are itching from the dust. He feels the spit fall on his face from the guard above him. “You can leave now,” Parrish orders from by the door.

The guards around Stiles were rough as they moved past him and he knew it was deliberate whenever a boot connected with his body. Stiles’ whole body was shaking as he shivered on the rocky ground, waiting for Parrish to leave with them. His head was turned away from Stiles, watching the guards leave. Stiles’ chest heaved as he coughed up the dust and Parrish turned his attention back on Stiles, kneeling down beside him and reaching a hand out.

Stiles flinched and Parrish sighed, his eyes travelling over Stiles’ body. He felt like he was about to vomit when Parrish reached for his own belt.

He tried to move away, drag himself to the wall, but then Parrish removed a water-skin and held it out to him with sad eyes. Stiles couldn’t help but glare at the pouch, not wanting to take it in case it was a trick.

“You need to drink.” Another coughing fit overtook Stiles, and his ribs were aching from where the guards kicked him. “I’m not going to hurt you, I swear. Look, see?” Parrish uncorked the top and let the water fall into his mouth, swallowing before holding it back out to Stiles.

Stiles stretched out and let his fingers close over the neck of it before he drew it to his mouth. The cool water was a relief as he drank, easing the ache in his throat. He passed it back and Parrish gave him a tight-lipped smile. “You shouldn’t be down here.”

“…Why?”

“It’s for traitors and violent killers. No offence, but you don’t look like either.”

Stiles can’t help but snort. “I’m sure there are people who will tell you otherwise.”

“So what did you do?”

Stiles shakes his head, looking at the tall ceiling. “Nothing. I ran away. I didn’t touch anyone.”

“Would you answer if I asked why?”

Stiles sighs, watching the flames lick at the torch. “I tried to stop them from hurting my– someone. I was so close to home– my sister–” He cuts himself off with a sob, pressing his hands to his eyes to try and stop his tears. “Can– if I asked you, would you do something for me?”

Parrish nods, his brow furrowing in concern. “Anything but kill you.”

Stiles can’t help but giggle hysterically before he can calm himself down. Parrish puts his hand on his shoulder, trying to meet Stiles’ gaze.

“I need– I need you to find Derek.”

Parrish’s eyes widen and his voice is careful. “What do you want with him?”

“Tell him he needs to find the Queen. I know he’s just a servant but he needs to _beg_ if he has too, I can’t– I can’t be here–”

“A servant?”

“Yes, a servant. He– he has black hair and… and green eyes and he has a triskele tattoo–”

Parrish is staring at him in disbelief and Stiles reaches up to his neck, pulling the chain over his head. He holds it out and Parrish looks confused. “Give this to him. I want him to have it.”

“You want me to give this to his highness?”

Stiles shakes his head. “No, I want you to give it to Derek. Or if you come across someone else first– Boyd or Allison or Laura, it doesn’t matter just, make sure they know Stiles wants them to give it to Derek.”

Parrish takes the necklace and pulls out a dirty old cloth before he wraps it carefully and pockets it, but his eyes don’t leave Stiles’ face. “How do you know Prince Derek? Or better yet, how do you know the Princess Laura? Ser Boyd? Lady Allison Argent?”

Stiles feels himself go cold, because there is nothing in Parrish’s voice but confusion, no matter how guarded his expression had become. There’s no possibility that there are four people with the exact same names, and every conversation Stiles has had with them suddenly makes sense. Derek’s constant defense of the Hales–

Parrish looks like he’s expecting an answer but Stiles can’t find any words. They’re caught in his throat and he feels like he’s trapped but he can’t stop it. He hears Parrish’s voice but he can’t make sense of the words, until he hears the door closed shut and the keys lock click as Parrish starts walking away.

He– everything he and Derek had done… This whole time, Stiles has been a fool. He’s trembling from the cold– or is it just him? Stiles can’t figure it out, because everything feels cold and numb except for his throbbing head and he can’t do anything to escape his thoughts as he watches the flame of the torch is getting further away and he can see the door start to shut in the distance.

The light slowly thins until the cavern is filled with a dull echo.

And all at once he was swallowed by the dark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I was writing I totally forgot to tell Jess that Claudia didn't sell Stiles and she basically yelled at me for forgetting to tell her that cause this whole time she'd been thinking it was her and I'm a terrible person. Jess you're lovely I love you and you should all love her too for what I put her through


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, I'm so sorry. Uhh, if there are any mistakes or typos I apologise, because its like 1am and the 25th of December and I had to edit this thing so many times in the past like four weeks so yeah just mention it in the comments and I'll fix it when I am awake. And while I'm usually a scrooge, my present for you guys is the next chapter when I get home from family get togethers (providing I'm not drunk because yeah I'm so here for that) so whoo, double update, how exciting.
> 
> OH and this chapter contains the aftermath of torture, just fyi if you are uncomfortable with that sort of thing. If you want to skip that its basically the last section. Kind of like, halfway through the last section to the end. I'd promise things look up from here but I won't make that sort of promise when my mind is running on fumes and chicken nuggets from like 7/8 hours ago. And I thrive on you guys and feedback so yeah, kudos and comments give me life like no question.

Derek’s paws kicked up the dirt as Cora and Laura ran beside him. The life of the forest thrived around them as they yipped, nipping at each other’s feet when they got right up close. Running with his sisters was something they’d always done, the safety of the forest reminding them that no matter how bad things got, or how scared they were, that things would always go back to normal.

While Derek and Laura were drinking from the stream, Cora waded through the shallows. At one point her paw came down heavily against the surface, splashing over their muzzles. Derek jumped away from the water, feinting down on his front paws before looking between his sisters. Laura rolled her eyes before she leaped at Cora, who wailed loudly.

Derek started imitating her and Laura joined in, earning a glare from their younger sister as she cut off her playful noises.

They darted through the trees, circling round and ganging up on each other with no rhythm or purpose, eventually making their way back to the gardens.

Derek was tightening his belt when he picked up the eager whispers from a few of the servants watering the flowers.

“I heard that they beat Deucalion after they refused him service.”

“I thought that Harris kept his… workers on a tight leash.”

The other paused. “You can say ‘whore’ outright, it’s not going to infect you.”

“No matter what I call them, they’ll get what’s coming to them.”

“Why do you say that?”

“They’re vile– Why should they live by selling themselves? They betray the gods.”

Laura caught Derek’s eye and he could tell what was going through her mind. Sometimes it haunted him at night, the image of the bloodstained wood. He woke up one night in a sweat after they’d come back from that journey, the dream fresh in his head of being strapped to the pole with Wolfsbane ropes while Kate watched with glee. The worst times were when he dreamed Stiles attached to the pole, lifeless and bloody and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“I wonder why that’s got them so riled up,” Cora says.

“You mean apart from someone being able to get close enough to Deucalion?”

Cora looks between Laura and Derek, cocking her head to the side. “Why do you two look like you know something I don’t?”

Derek tucked his shirt in and started to walk away, Laura following his lead. Cora kept pace with them, slowly becoming more aggravated. “What’s going on with Harris?”

Laura pulls them both into the closest alcove as soon as the words leave her mouth and Derek can tell by the look on her face that she’s going to tell Cora. “Laura, don’t–”

“I have a right to know, Derek!” Cora hisses. “You think I don’t notice how you and Boyd and _Argent_ disappear? Or how you smell happy for once? Don’t even get me started on when you came back today–”

“There is a reason mom didn’t want us to tell you,” Laura sighs. “Harris is dangerous–”

“Literally everyone with a brain knows that–”

“Mom didn’t want us to tell you in case you’d get hurt, Cora” Derek explains tiredly. He didn’t know how long he’d kept awake watching Stiles sleep the night before, but he had been so worried thinking about it. He’d been lying to him this whole time and Stiles deserved so much more than a liar who he hated on principle. And when Stiles had said that _Derek_ had been too good to him, it had hurt to hear that Stiles believed that. “There are things you don’t know–”

“Then tell me!”

“Cora, mom thinks there’s a traitor in the Court. It’s the only explanation after all these years–”

“You mean the poisoning?”

Laura makes a face, looking between them both.

Suddenly the way Laura had been keeping quiet since they returned from her trip seemed more than just her having to deal with those memories. “Laura, what do you know that I don’t?”

Laura bit her lip and looked apologetic. “The Captain thinks Harris aided Lady Katherine. It’s the only way to explain how none of the servants saw her… They didn’t want me to tell anyone just in case–”

“Laura?” Cora asks with wide eyes.

“You remember the Captain’s wife?”

Derek nods.

“He doesn't think she killed herself. He thinks Harris might have been involved.”

“How would he know? There was a string of suicides, she could have easily done it.”

“Laura…” Cora says, before her eyes flash gold. “I think... Do you know if they have a child?”

Laura looks uncertain and Cora links her arms through Laura’s as Derek trails behind, leading them forward with purpose through the gardens into the courtyard. There were conversations involving what happened with each turn, people gossiping about the whore who had spit in Harris’ face. She takes them up the steps towards of her room before she starts to hurriedly look through her belongings.

“I found this in the library when I was little– I was the only one who still looked at the pictures, so I didn't think anyone would miss it,” she rushes, turning through the brightly illustrated pages to the end of the book. “It doesn't say a name, but I thought it could have been someone you knew if they had been your age. Do you remember if they had a child?”

Her fingers trace over the lines on the back until she stops and stares at the book. “This one, it has their seal. ‘ _To my beloved Claudia, in the hope that I return home safe to the both of you. Love, your husband’_. _”_

“Not anyone I can remember…” Laura mutters.

“Would Deaton know? He helped deliver all of us, after all.”

“But why would she kill herself if she had a child?”

“I don't  _know_ , Laura-”

Cora rolls her eyes. “You can join me at Deaton’s or not, just stop bickering.”

She storms out and Derek and Laura chase after her, through the halls until they reach the hospice. Cora opens the door with little regard, and the woman crushing herbs looks up to them.

“Your majesties, how can I help you?”

“Marin, where’s your brother?” Laura asks carefully.

“He’s in council with your mother at the moment. Something about the prisoner in the dungeons.”

“Why would your brother be involved?”

“Ever since he came back from the Third, he has had a deep distrust of the system. He’s been trying to undermine Harris ever since.”

Derek meets Laura’s glare, choosing his words cautiously. “He was in the Third Circle?”

“He lived there, against my advice. He seemed to think it was safer for him than in the palace.”

“Did… Do you know if he helped deliver the Captain's baby?”

“I wouldn't be able to discuss that with you, unfortunately because I wasn't there–”

She was interrupted by their protests.

“–I do believe the infant died however. It wasn't only adults who died when the war began. I don’t know the details of it all; it's not my area of expertise.” They all nod and she wipes her hands on her pants and stares at them intently. “I think my brother blamed himself, part of why he left for the Third. He tried to help where he could, but there was too much death there as well. He used to talk of a boy, but when he went back to try and help them...”

Laura closed her eyes, no doubt trying to force away the memories of the pole and the bloodstained house like Derek was. Laura’s voice broke as she spoke. “Was it a whore?”

Marin looked over at Laura sharply and then to Derek, who couldn’t meet her eyes. She nodded. “The boy died by Harris’ hand. My brother was furious with himself.”

Derek reached out for Laura’s arm, trying to distract her. “Why? If– we’ve been the Third Circle, if what you say is true then his house was covered in blood.”

Marin pulled out a book, opening the pages until she found what she was looking for and pulled out an ingredient for whatever she was making. She looked up at them, expression blank. “I'm afraid I don't know any more. All I know is that he doesn't trust Harris.”

Laura nodded quickly, leading the other two out. They headed for the library next, Derek leading them to the most secluded corner. It was always less suspicious than a drawing room.

Laura sat down, trying to think it over as Derek watched his two sisters. “This doesn’t make any sense... It’s nonsense.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why would she kill herself? What happened to their child? Why would Harris–’”

“Laura? What is it?”

Laura looks up, face going pale. “I don’t think she killed herself–”

“What?” Derek asked, feeling cold.

“What?!” Cora hissed, grabbing Laura’s hands. “How could you know?”

Laura shakes her head. “Mom thinks Harris is involved in the poisoning. The suicides were committed through poisoning themselves.”

“You think Harris might have killed them?”

Laura shrugs. “It was a long time ago. I’m not sure we could have noticed when we were so young.”

Cora sighs, looking up to the ceiling. “We should go to the Captain and tell him.”

“See if he can make any sense of it,” Laura agrees. “Harris could have used anyone loyal to him to poison you and Dad, Derek.”

They’re about to stand when the door to the library opens.

“–I don’t understand why you’re being so secretive all of a sudden,” Lydia snaps.

“What if I need to be, Lydia? If my family found out…”

They’d talked after Stiles had suggested it, both figuring out what truths they knew. Allison didn’t know about Katherine’s most likely hand in poisoning Derek, just as Derek didn’t know how Allison and her father didn’t agree with her aunt trying to tie with Derek. He found out that her mother died in the war, after she killed herself – something that Allison and her father had never wanted to accept. They both knew that they had more in common than they thought.

They both decided that they needed to keep the McCall family safe.

“If they found out _what_ , Allison? I’m your friend; you should be able to tell me why you keep disappearing–”

Derek stood, Laura trying to pull him back. It was too late; he was already walking towards the girls. Lydia caught sight of him first, raising a brow in disdain. It had been Allison’s suggestion to keep their newfound friendship a secret, as not to raise rumours.

“Prince Derek,” Allison greeted with a nod, face showing nothing.

“Lady Allison, may we talk?”

Allison turned to Lydia, who looked between the two of them. Her piercing glare turned on Derek, before she stormed off out of the library. Allison closed her eyes and sighed before she sent Derek a grimace.

“Follow me.” He led her through the aisles back to his sisters, both glaring at Derek with mutinous expressions. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Derek, what is it? Not that I don’t appreciate the intervention, but… Lydia is Lydia.”

“Yes, Derek, why is the _Argent_ joining us?” Cora asks, not even trying to hide her disdain.

“Because _Allison_ might be able to help.”

Allison rolls her eyes before her gaze falls on Derek. “What is it?”

Laura shoots Derek a murderous glare when he opens his mouth. “We think Harris might have helped your aunt kill our father. He may have even killed your mother”

Allison goes pale, her jaw clenching. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You told me yourself that your mother would never kill herself. The Captain believes his wife would never kill herself either.”

She nods, looking dazed. “You think they’re connected?”

“Who found your mother?”

“It was my– Kate. Aunt Katherine was the first one there.”

“Did you mother ever tell you anything about the war? Anything that didn’t make sense at the time?”

Allison shook her head. “Not that I’m aware–”

She stops and looks down, her eyes darting back and forth.

“Allison?” Derek prompts, a squeezing her shoulder gently.

“My mother– she was going to be meeting with your father the next day. She was going to ask for the wolf who killed Gerard and be done with it, I remember that and then she and Kate had argued about it and–”

Laura got to her feet and Derek could smell the blood coming from her hands as she dug her claws into her skin. “And what, Allison?”

“And then she was dead. Kate took command of our armies while my father tried for negotiations.” She looked up at them with tears in her eyes. “They said it was poison, but my aunt wouldn't, not to my mother. Family is everything to us.”

“Derek,” Laura says quietly as she looks between Cora and Allison. “When we came back from the Circles, what was mom saying to Deucalion?”

Derek frowns, thinking back before he realises. “She told him to stay away from Allison.”

“What does he have anything to do with it?” Cora pipes up.

“He lost his sight during the war, from a spy within the camps. He could have started another war if he killed her, maybe he was looking to revenge against the Argents.”

“Why would that matter?” Derek asks. “Allison didn't do anything to him.”

Allison grimaces, expression wary. “It’s no secret to everyone that she hates your family. It’s why we couldn’t understand why she would try so hard for marriage. Maybe he wanted to kill her during negotiations but failed? She used to say she wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for her allies during the war.”

“But Harris wasn't ever on the battlefield?” Cora asks, shaking her head. “I don't understand how someone could have gotten passed our defenses.”

Laura gasps, her hand hitting Derek in the chest. “Who’s the one person who can travel between Circles without suspicion? Who can send people to the castle without fear of them being arrested”

Derek closed his eyes, a pained breath leaving him. “He wouldn’t have his letters intercepted if it was sent to one of his brothels. Everyone knows he sends whores to the Lords. They could have easily been sent for the soldiers on relief.”

Allison looks at Derek sharply. “How many people in the castle carry Wolfsbane?”

“Deaton and his sister. Why do you ask?”

“If Deaton was absent when you were poisoned, then the only person who could have done it was Kate. We all agreed not to bring any inside the Walls, but if she gave it to Harris or–”

“–Someone who could travel through the Circles without inspection. He could have easily slipped it into your water without having to pour it himself. Derek…” Cora finishes, looking between them all. “We have to find Mom.”

They split up, Laura with Cora and Derek with Allison. They were mostly silent as they walked arm in arm, trying to look casual. Only briefly did they talk about the most recent gossip that was travelling through the palace.

“Lydia was there. Apparently he spit in Harris’ face.”

“Brave kid. You think they’ll let him free?”

“I wouldn’t know. I wonder why everyone is talking about it.”

“He was able to get close enough to Deucalion to be able to make him bleed _and stay bleeding_ , Allison. I don’t know how that’s possible for a supposed human boy. He’s obviously dangerous, or they're lying.”

Allison hums, and they fall silent.

 

 

Derek knocks on the door before pushing it open; shrugging at the disbelieving look Allison sends him. They walk in to the private drawing room filled with his mother, the Captain, Deaton, and his uncle Peter. They all seemed shocked that Derek was with Allison, none of them saying anything until Deaton cleared his throat. “Prince Derek, Lady Allison, surely you heard about the urgent matter of violence against the Lord–”

“We know who they are. What you discussed with Laura,” Derek says, keeping his eyes on his mother.

She nods, looking tired and distressed. “Close the door behind you. I’m surprised that you’re with the Lady Allison, Derek.”

“Your Grace, if I may…” Allison starts, looking around the room. “We have reason to suspect that Lord Harris has been or is in league with my aunt Katherine.”

“And why would you suspect such a thing?” Peter asks, his tone condescending. He never liked the Argents; he always made it known in and out of her presence. 

Talia’s stare don’t leave her son’s, and Derek feels the piercing glare of his Alpha deep within him demanding the explanation. “After Cora and Laura and I heard about the whore, we weren’t sure what to think. How could he get passed Kali?”

“If the boy was… serving Deucalion, the others wouldn’t have been near him,” Deaton says gently.

“The servants said he refused him service,” Derek counters. “Cora kept pushing, so Laura told her about your wife.”

The Captain closed his eyes and sighed, looking pained. “What of it?”

Derek takes a breath, trying to prepare himself. “She thought you might have had a child, so we thought she couldn't have killed herself. We were trying to find you Deaton, to ask if it was true, but then Marin said you went to Third after she and the child died-”

The Captain’s eyes are all fury, staring at Deaton. “My child wasn't–”

“Calm down, gentlemen. Let them explain,” Talia says as she stares at Derek.

“We couldn't figure out why she would if there _was_ a child, and by poison… And then Allison–” Derek glances at her and she steps forward, head held high.

“My mother didn’t kill herself. Kate was the only person there to find her… If she was involved with Harris, my mother could have easily been poisoned too. My mother and father wanted peace as much as you. My mother was going to ask for the wolf that killed him and be done with it. But then she killed herself with no reason? Just like your wife.”

“Harris wasn't on the battlefield, but he could have sent his people–”

Derek cuts himself off when he sees the Captain’s sad eyes. “You’re not wrong. About my child, about Claudia. She'd left me a letter, telling me where to find him, but my boy was already dead by the time I got back and got to the person looking after him. They had already gotten rid of his body and I couldn't think why Claudia would- why she would-”

Derek nods, swallowing the bile he felt in his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

Allison waits so long that Derek can feel the tension in the air. “When we came for negotiations, we swore not to bring any Wolfsbane, yet Derek still got poisoned, and King Robert died.”

“We couldn’t prove that was your aunt,” Peter sneers.

“That’s because she didn’t bring it in with her. We were searched at every gate on our way here. There’s only one person who comes and goes through each of the Circles so often that they wouldn’t bother checking. Same with his letters if it was sent to one of his whorehouses. Harris could have easily told one of them to slip it into their water. They are his loyal people and they would do anything for him, everyone knows that.”

Derek blinked several times in confusion before he looked up to Allison with a new revelation, only to be met by her frown. “What?”

“Not all of them…”

“Derek?” Talia asks, stepping close.

“If a whore who _refused_ Deucalion service was close enough to make him bleed, why would he have trouble getting away from the guards? A human boy wouldn’t be strong enough for any of that.”

“And if they were loyal and would do anything for Harris, why would they spit in his face?” Allison catches on with a sharp inhale.

“I saw the boy you’re talking about. He was more afraid of Harris than Kali,” Peter interjects, curiosity finally engaged. “If the child knows something, he could provide useful.”

The Captain curses and walks out of the room, all but Deaton following him. Enough was enough and Derek was glad. If they were right, they could stop the lies and the violence and humiliation that many of them still lived in. They could finally provide for their people. Boyd saw them across the hall, walking over cautiously at the sight of their party.

“Ser?” Boyd asked as he stepped in line with the Captain.

“I need you to keep an eye out for Harris. If you see him, make sure you have enough people to take him. Go spread the word. I need you to find Kali and make sure she hasn't harmed the prisoner.”

Boyd nods and turns down the hall as they all walk and Derek keeps sparing glances at his mother and Allison. They look nervous and he knows the anticipation is coming off of all of them.

They reach the stairs in the main hall, heading down. They reach the prison, the empty cells all around them. Danny stands, bowing to the Queen.

“Mahealani, where’s the prisoner?” The Captain asks, looking around the empty room.

“Prisoner, Ser? I just relieved Whittemore. There’s been no one here all day.”

Everyone goes quiet with confusion looking between one another. Then Derek could hear the faint sound of footsteps above them, coming closer as they came down the stairs. It wasn’t long before the other knight came into view, looking surprised at seeing them all.

“Parrish? Why aren’t you down at the door?”

“I was looking for the Prince, Ser,” Parrish explains. “I was coming to find you too, considering it was Ennis who demanded I move aside. I wanted to ask about the boy’s placement. I’ve been searching for you since I left my post a few hours back and I locked the door so he should still be safe from any prying… _individuals_.”

“We were just coming to release him. Why were you looking for Derek?”

Parrish looks to Derek, holding out a small piece of cloth. “They wanted me to give this to you. He thought you were a servant, of all things. I tried explaining you were a Prince but he wouldn’t stop crying and shaking.”

Derek can’t stop staring at Parrish, unsure of why anyone would think that. Eventually it’s Allison who reaches forward and takes the small bundle from Parrish, pressing it into Derek’s hands with a small question of his name.

He looks down at the cloth, unfolding it gently. He sees the small glint from the familiar silver against the light of the torches, feeling himself go cold. The twisted shapes of the charm glare up at him and his breath catches.

It had only been that morning–

Derek ignores his mother’s concern and looks up at Parrish’s confused expression. He feels the Captain’s hand on his shoulder ground him as Derek closes his palm over the silver, his breathing coming through in swallow breaths.

“He’s not a whore,” he manages. “He’s not– the boy isn’t a whore. That's why he was afraid, he wouldn't know anything-”

“Derek?” The Captain asks him.

“Parrish, take me down there _now_ ,” Derek orders as his fear starts to consume him.

Stiles wouldn’t have given anyone his necklace, no _one_ , it looked too specific to have a replica. It couldn’t be _him_ , it couldn’t.

Maybe he’d been attacked and they’d stolen it? But then how could they know to give it to Derek? It was the dread that kept Derek following Parrish down the stairs.

“What’s that noise?” Talia murmurs, like she wasn’t sure if she was hearing it.

“I don’t hear anything?” Allison asks.

“No, I hear it as well,” Peter says.

As he steps closer, Derek opens himself to his surroundings rather than keep blocking himself out of his own senses from the fear residing deep in his stomach.

It’s screaming; pained and scared and hurt, primal like an animal.

He runs down the winding steps as quickly as he can, hearing it get louder the closer they get. He hears his name shouted behind him, but he doesn’t stop. He reaches the stretch of floor and the iron door stares out at him from across the room.

Derek feels like he’s in a nightmare, one he can’t wake up from and the press of the metal in his palm feels like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

And then he hears it.

 _“It would’ve been so much easier if you had just bent over for Duke. Just like old times,_ ” the voice coos. _“You think by choosing me I could’ve spared you? Harris told me to kill you, but he should have known by now that crossing us would make only make me want to draw this out. I never understood why you were his favourite toy, you know. Maybe that’s why he’d prefer you dead, rather than me finding out just why…”_

He hears the pleading turn into hurt whimpers, though it still sounds like an ear-piercing cry in his head.

 _“Perhaps_   _I should cut your precious cock off instead, seeing how you clearly don't want to use it…”_

Derek tries to wrench the door but it doesn’t move. His mom pulls his shoulder and her eyes shine a fierce red. “ _Derek, calm_ _down_.”

He swallows and takes deeper breaths, watching Parrish as he inspects the handle. “The lock is broken.”

“What?” The Captain demands.

“The lock, it’s been broken.”

Talia growls, reaching over to pull on the handle. There’s a crunching sound and it barely shifts. “Peter, don’t just stand there, _help_ me.”

Peter sighs and grabs hold of the handle with Talia, both pulling with all their strength. The door groans as it breaks open, the darkness flowing out of the gap. Derek can only fit his hand through after several attempts, pushing it outwards rather than pulling. It shifts more, enough that he can slip through and Derek feels like he can’t breathe as he sees the light tunnelling through the end of the space.

He runs as fast as he can, feeling his claws and teeth lengthen as he feels his control begin to slip. Derek has a moment of panic and he throws the necklace over his neck as he shifts halfway to let himself run faster. He can’t lose Stiles’ necklace.

Derek is on all fours in beta form as he reaches the end, the cage lit from a torch. Kali is pressed against the body, and Derek can’t see anything except for their strained arms hanging from where their wrists are shackled from the ceiling. When Derek snarls his anger is tangible with the atmosphere and Kali looks over her shoulder, her eyes flashing red as he shows his own gold. 

He can taste the blood that’s thick in the air, and just under that he can smell the fainter scent of cooking meat. He hears the snarl beside him, feels his Alpha’s calming presence next to him.

“Kali,” she says. “Let go of the boy.”

There’s no wariness in her tone. It’s a direct order.

Kali smirks, her eyes skirting over their party. “He’s mine, Talia. He gave Harris up for me, so he’s mine. Why should he refuse service to paying customers? He knows us _intimately_.”

Derek growls again and he feels his mother’s hand on her shoulder. Her heart didn’t skip. Maybe it wasn’t him, wasn't _Stiles_. “Kali, the boy is an innocent. You're going to be arrested for torture against him. If you don’t submit in the next ten seconds, I will kill you,” the Captain ordered.

Kali’s upper lip twitches in disgust and she turns, throwing the knife in her blood drenched hands to the bench beside her. Derek spares it a look as she steps forward and bares her throat and the Captain steps forward, taking her wrists behind her back. Torn clothes and curled rods force Derek to swallow his fear and _look_. Derek’s eyes fly over to the naked figure, their back facing them. The marks on their back are harsh in the poor light, the marred skin standing out from the places of skin that were cut open and bleeding. Derek feels himself relax.

Stiles didn’t have scars.

It couldn’t have been him.

Those were the old wounds though, some of the healed flesh broken from deep cuts as they bled freely. No doubt from the blades and Kali’s claws. The boy’s right shoulder is angled wrong, along with the blood seeping down his wrists from the shackles. There was blood painting his body from each of the wounds. Bruises covered the rest of his body, they covered his front in deep purples.

The quiet sobs reached his ears and he stepped forward, but Allison had already moved forward and started to tear at the fabric of the clothes on the table and face him, wincing at the other side of his body. She started to dress his wounds, tightly as she could.

“Can you look at me? No one is going to hurt you now, you have my word.”

The hysterical laughter echoed through Derek’s head and he felt himself go cold, forcing his shift under his skin as he went to stand. It sounded familiar like it was from a bad memory. He moved across the small space to Allison, helping her tie the strip around the deep cut on his bare thigh. Derek felt his stomach churn at the colour of his hair. 

Derek put his hand on the boy’s back, letting the pain flow through him and out of the stranger as he tried to get him to stand on his feet. His chin was pressed to his chest and face was hidden behind his strung up arms, like it would protect him. Allison repeated her words and the boy sobbed and Derek leaned close, barely able to hear the words he was breathing out.

It wasn’t words.

It was _a_ word.

Derek’s name.

He reached up to the iron bindings and snapped them apart as gently as he could, holding on to the stubborn denial that it couldn’t be _him_ as Derek started to slowly pull his uninjured arm away from the manacle. He cried out and Derek fought against the bile that filled his mouth when the smell of cooked meat made itself obvious when he caught sight of the blistered skin still attached to the metal. The boy’s wrist was bleeding from being continuously scraped and cut from the handcuff, but the raw skin paled in comparison to the seared brand on his left wrist in the shape of a crude eye, a fresh ooze of pus and blood spilling from the torn surface.

Derek let the arm fall as he went to cover his mouth, the boy drawing his hand to his face like he was trying to tear at his skin. Derek watched in horror as his fingers left trails of blood by his ears, nails torn off.

Allison was supporting his dead weight, as Derek reached for the other thick shackle and broke it easily. There was no way– the boy struggled, trying to get away and Derek shushed him gently, telling him he was there and that he was safe now. As his right arm dropped down with another pained cry, Derek took the boy’s weight and Allison draped his legs them over Derek’s waiting arm.

He still clutched his face like he was trying to tear it off and Allison tried to catch his bloody wrists as he scrambled to scratch at his skin but having no luck, and soon she manoeuvred past his hands and reached to touch his forehead. “He’s burning up.”

“ _No_ ,” he sobbed, and Derek knew there was no doubt when he heard his broken voice above more than an exhale.

It was him.

“Please, Stiles look at me, _please_ ,” Derek whispered into his ear, “please, _Stiles_ , _I love you._ ”

There was another cackle of laughter from him but his body shook with the pain, his hands twisted away from his face and onto Derek’s chest, his blood coating Derek as his bleeding and raw fingers scrabbled for purchase against his skin and shirt until he gripped the chain around Derek’s neck. Derek forced tears away, detaching himself as he watched his face and Stiles glared up at Derek, his blood-streaked face etched in pain and his eyes as they slowly started to glaze over.

Talia closed her eyes at the state of him and Allison let out a pained sound, drawing Stiles’ slowly deteriorating state to the rest of their group. He paused at Parrish, lips trembling, but seeing Allison made him press his face into Derek’s shoulder and draw in shuddering breaths as he tugged at the necklace with silent tears that he didn’t even seem to notice.

Derek could smell his fear and his disgust and it felt like a hot poker was shoved through his heart.

Stiles hated him.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, happy holidays everyone, its been a long day (and unfortunately I am not drunk) so yaaaay the double update is here! Any mistakes, I'm sorry, just mention it and I'll get to it, hope you peeps all had a good day, and enjoy the chapter :)

Stiles passes out before they even reached the door. Derek could barely think about anything other than Stiles limp in his arms. His face was streaked with tears, dirt and blood, his body sweaty and pale. Derek listened for his heartbeat and his breathing and nothing else; letting everything other than Stiles wash over him.

Time feels like its passing too slowly and his movements feel like he’s wading through a stream rather than moving as quickly as possible without causing more pain for Stiles’ body. Derek heads towards the stairs when he hears his mother’s voice and a hand on his shoulder, turning him around gently.

“Derek, I need you to calm down,” Talia orders quietly, demanding his attention.

“Mom, he needs help–”

“I _know_ that, but if you can’t calm down you’ll end up hurting him more. Put your claws away.”

Derek looks down and sees them standing out against Stiles’ pale skin, feeling panic go through him. He takes a deep breath and reigns in his feelings of dread, trying to draw the pain away from Stiles’ body at the same time.

He hears his name from across the floor, looking over his mother’s shoulder to see Laura and Cora walking over to them. Talia grips his shoulder harder, grounding him, while his sisters make their way to them.

They look excited, but the looks of excitement on their faces die down when they see the body in Derek’s arms. Cora looks like she might be sick, but Laura doesn’t approach any closer from where she stopped. She begins to shake the longer she looks, staring at Stiles’ face before wavering back to Derek’s, tears falling from her eyes.

“Derek, that’s…” she loses her words.

“I _know_ , Laura,” he hisses. “Go to Deaton, tell him to set up a cot, I’ll be there as soon as I can–”

“Oh gods,” she breathes, all but running towards the steps.

“You know him?” Cora asks with wide eyes.

“Cora, don’t you think that can wait? He needs help–” Allison starts to say, but then she looks to Derek. She’s as scared as he is and lets out a pained breath. “I– Scott and Erica… Someone needs to tell them–”

“ _Go_ ,” Derek pleads, and she nods and heads for the east wing where her room is located.

Derek shrugs his mother’s hand off of his shoulder, heading for the north wing. He hears his mother’s voice before a quiet growl but he keeps moving, climbing the stairs and through the different halls until he comes to the flight of steps that leads to the hospice. He pushes up them with no hesitance, about to kick the door open when it swings open to Laura’s frantic expression. Deaton and Morrell are moving about and they turn when Derek walks in.

“Put him on the table,” Morrell directs.

Laura helps Derek to lift Stiles out of his arms and onto his stomach on the wood surface, her face paling at the extent of the damage.

“ _Gods_ ,” Laura breathes again, reaching for the towel that Morrell is soaking.

“My Lady, I don’t think–”

“Marin, let me do this _please_ ” Laura pleads, taking the cloth from her hands.

She’s gentle as she cleans the blood away, gentler than Derek thinks he himself could be, and then Deaton walks over with a tray of vials and cloth to another workbench. He gestures at a chair for Derek, which Derek drags to the table without hesitation and rolls his bloodied sleeves out of the way. Stiles’ face is still soaked with layers of grime and Derek reaches for a cloth to clean his face.

“So this is the prostitute from the dungeons?” Deaton asks coolly while his back still turned.

“He’s not a whore,” Derek snaps, and Deaton pauses from sorting his materials.

“Alan, look at these scars,” Morrell says from the other side of the table, looking over her shoulder at her brother. “I've never seen them like this before.”

Deaton turns and his face ever calm, but Derek can smell the bitterness in the air.

He walks over to Derek’s side of the table, looking over the expanse of Stiles’ back before his eyes dart to Stiles’ face. Deaton looks to his feet and closes his eyes, drawing in a tight breath and focuses on Laura’s cracking voice as she hums a tune to Stiles’ unconscious form.

“He’s alive. Of course he is,” he laughs quietly. “Marin, pass me the tray please.”

She does, and Deaton works thoroughly over his back until all of his wounds are treated and wrapped.

“What about his shoulder?” Laura asks, eyeing the joint.

“It’s a simple dislocation,” Morrell tell them as she touches Stiles’ shoulder. Moving with a speed almost as quick as Derek or Laura would, Marin shifts and then a loud popping sound fills Derek’s ears before she wraps it with a damp towel.

The smells of the medicine in the room fills Derek’s nose, but underneath it all he can still catch the faint scent of burnt flesh. Derek can see the black in Laura’s veins recede as she watches Stiles’ face in trepidation, and Derek turns his attention to Stiles’ wrist.

“Derek…”

It’s still oozing, the blood trickling slowly against the clear pus. The sight of it makes something turn frenzied inside of Derek, something furious with rage and ready to tear at Kali, to rip her to shreds for daring to mark him as property to anyone other than Stiles himself. The inconsistent beat of Stiles’ heart is amplified and it’s the only thing that he can hear, the only thing that tells him Stiles isn't dead. The blood lust is calling him, demanding retribution for Stiles–

“ _Derek_!”

Derek looks up, meeting Laura’s glowing eyes.

“Calm down. I know this is hard and I  _know_ how important he is to you, but there’s nothing we can do–”

“There has to be something–” he starts, but it comes out slurred over his fangs.

It’s then he realises he’s turned, his claws out and his brow furrowed. He pulls it back as quickly as it came, afraid of what Stiles would say if he woke up and saw him in that form. Abomination would surely be at the top of his list, above liar and bastard.

“For his burn we’ll have to apply a salve to ensure it doesn't turn septic. I would usually recommend time and rest, but it should accelerate his healing process,” Deaton calls out from his storage room, coming back with an armful of ingredients.

“It won’t hurt him though, will it?” Laura asks, wringing her hands together.

“He will need something to keep him numb for the next few days but it will help him.”

“The pain will be that bad?” Laura probes, her gaze undecided on who to focus on.

“Unbearable.”

“Do it,” Derek quietly responds. “Just help him.”

 

 

“When will he wake up?” Derek asks, looking to Deaton after dusk had fallen and several hours of silence had passed. He’d cleaned the blood off of his skin as best he could, but his shirt was still stained and Derek couldn’t make himself leave the infirmary. Just watching Stiles made his chest ache, but he couldn’t think of any other place to be than by his side.

Deaton looks up from the bowel he’s cleaning his hands with, meeting Derek’s eye. “I can’t be sure. He’s been through quite a bit of trauma recently. We’re lucky you got there as soon as you did, I have no doubt that Stiles would have died if Kali had an opportunity to inflict any more damage.”

“I didn’t tell you his name…” Laura looks up, staring at Deaton before flicking between Stiles and Derek. She gasps. “It’s him isn’t it?”

“Who is him, Laura?” Derek asks, reaching up to fiddle with the chain. He drops his hand when he realises what he’s doing.

“ _Stiles_. Stiles was the boy who got whipped, wasn’t he? The– the whore from the Third Circle, that’s how you know him, isn’t it?” She hisses at Deaton, looking distressed at her own revelation.

Derek looks down at Stiles, the scars over his back–

Of course.

It all made sense. His lack of parentage, his family at the Inn–

 _Everyone lies, Derek. It’s what you lied_ about _._

_We all have things we want to hide, but you don’t have to pretend around me._

_I just panicked. I thought you weren’t going to stop._

_You’re too good for me, Derek_.

All this time that Derek’s been afraid of Stiles finding out about his true identity, when he’s been lying to him this whole time as well. Everything fell into place and Derek couldn’t help but crave for Stiles’ touch right now, for him to be awake, so Derek could tell him how much he–

The door bursts open and Harris comes through, eyes wide and his expression furious. He stalks forward and everyone is too dazed to react until Derek catches sight of the knife gripped in his hand. Derek surges up and grabs him without thinking, shoving him back until he hits the wall. Derek snarls and tightens his grip on Harris’ wrist, hearing the bones snap and the blade fall to the floor as he cries out in pain.

“You think this is bad, Harris? If you come near him again I’ll fucking end you,” Derek growls, pushing him further onto the wall.

“You think I’m scared of you, Hale?”

“I think you should be. By the time I’m through with you, you’ll wish I had been my uncle.”

Harris’ eyes go wide before his gaze darts to the chain around Derek’s neck. “Give me the necklace and I won’t touch him.”

“Why do you want it?”

“It has sentimental value to me; I bought it for him when he was a child. Never let the damn thing out of his sight.”

_My mother she… She gave it to me. It’s the only thing I have left of her._

“Even if I couldn’t hear your heartbeat, I’d know you were lying. What makes you think I’d give you his mother’s necklace?”

“She sold him to me, sire. He hates her.”

He wasn’t lying, but Derek doesn’t move. There’s something underneath his words, something desperate, but then Derek remembers how it was Harris who was involved in killing his father. He grabs Harris’ other wrist and pulls them behind his back.

“Derek?” Laura asks from the door.

“I’m taking Lord Harris to Captain Stilinski. Stay with Stiles.”

“Be careful, brother.”

Derek spares himself one last glance at Stiles’ torn and disfigured body before he memorises the lines of his face, how his hair is weighed down by sweat and lying flat on his head for the first time in Derek’s memory of him. Even as he is, he’s still the most beautiful creature that Derek has ever seen. He just prays that he’ll never have to see him broken ever again.

 

 

“Captain,” Derek calls out when he finds him talking with his mother in the throne room, the pair of them dressed lightly in pants and cotton shirts in case they have to move quickly.

“Where did you find Harris? His chambers were empty,” Stilinski notes with disgust.

“He tried to kill him.”

“Your friend?” His mother asks with a look of pity on her face.

“ _Friend_?” Harris starts laughing. “You fucked him, didn’t you? Did you tell him you loved him as well? He’d believe you. He’s so _pathetic_ –”

Derek tightens his grip and Harris cries out as his bones are crushed further.

The Captain smirks at the pained sound, before schooling his features to blank. “Adrian Harris, you’re under arrest for treason and conspiracy against the Crown.”

Harris’ face goes still, his jaw clenching. “Do you have any proof behind these accusations?”

“Just my wife’s,” the Captain says, eyes tired. “And I’m sure the boy can tell us a lot, judging by both of your reactions to each other. Is it true you poisoned the King?”

Harris’ heart stutters at the words and he glares, his upper lip twitching in hatred. “No.”

“He’s lying,” the Queen growls, her eyes glowing red. “You murdered my husband and poisoned my son in an attempt to kill him too. Anything else to say while you’re here?”

“The boy doesn’t know anything,” he sneers. “You and Claudia got what was coming to you both.”

Derek watches as fear washes over Stilinski’s face and before Talia can stop him; the Captain’s fist is flying across Harris’ face.

Derek has to pull Harris away from the Captain as his mother steps forward, trying to calm him. “Guard, take Harris to the cavern. Make sure you lock him up with the same precautions as Kali. See how he likes a taste of their own medicine.”

The guard at the door steps forward, taking Harris’ wrists and leading him out. The Captain is gripping his mother’s arm, holding on like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “John, listen to me, there’s nothing you could have done–”

“If I had been here–”

“You can’t think like that,” Derek says quietly. They both look over at him, one a look of pity and the other of absolute grief. “If you blame yourself thinking about what you could have prevented you won’t move past it. Claudia’s death is tragic, but it means we can end this once and for all.”

“Derek…” Talia cautions quietly, shaking her head.

“No, Derek is right. If they were here…” He trails off, a scowl starting to form on his face. “Where did you get that?”

“Ser?”

“That necklace,” he asks, reaching out and rubbing his thumb over the bloodied metal resting on Derek’s chest.

“I– It was the one Parrish gave to me.” He knows he can’t lie to them, but he doesn’t want them to take it away. It’s probably the only memory of Stiles he’ll be allowed to keep.

“From the boy?” Talia asks, eyeing it suspiciously.

“I– yes? Harris tried to take it from me and I broke his wrist.”

“Where did he get it?” The Captain asks, his voice tight.

“His mother gave it to him.”

The Captain lets go of the necklace, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“John?”

“It’s alright, Talia. It’s just a memory.”

“Ser?”

“I gave Claudia that necklace when I first started courting her,” Stilinski says sadly. “After they died… A woman sold all her possessions. It’s a small city, that’s all. It could have ended up in any hand.”

“But-” Derek tries, and Talia shoots him a look that tells him to quit while he’s ahead.

The Captain looks up at him. “The woman who was supposed to take care of my son... She had sold everything I could remember them by.”

“…I’m sorry.” Derek feels like he should say something else, but he can’t think of anything that will make it any better. There were really no words of comfort that could make it right.

Stilinski shakes his head, looking away. There’s a knock on the door and they all look to the opening door, Morrell walking in with Cora. “Your Ladyship told me to come find you when he woke up, sire. Except there have been some… complications.”

He feels a rush of dread go through him, thinking the worst.

“What sort of complications?” Talia asks sharply.

“He will not speak,” she says simply.

Derek follows her as she turns, Cora linking her arm through his. He can hear Stilinski and his mother walking behind them and he can feel Cora keep shooting him worried glances, trying to gauge his control and emotions.

“So it _is_ true? You know him?”

“I do, Cora. He works at the Inn I go to when I leave.”

“He’s the reason why you’re so happy now?”

Derek says nothing.

There’s nothing that he could say to Stiles to make him forgive him, Derek knows that much, but the thought that Stiles had told Parrish to give the necklace to Derek no matter who he was, it had to mean something. It had to mean he still trusted Derek, even in the isolation of the cavern, that Derek would make things right and get him out. Stiles trusts him, even if it was before, but that faith has to count for something, he’s sure of it.

Derek wished he couldn’t remember his face when they had found him, that the blank look in his glazed eyes had already been there, but he knows there was recognition and he knows what Stiles felt as soon as he saw Derek. Fear and disgust. Nothing could change that, and he thinks that he wouldn’t want it too. Derek couldn’t live with himself if he kept lying to Stiles, only time and circumstance was against them.

As Derek walked he hoped it would be one thing they had plenty of to try and make things right. He could prove to Stiles he loved him. Show him why he did the things he did.

 

 

Morrell pushes open the door to the infirmary and the three people in there snap their gazes to the new arrivals. Laura looks upset, Deaton frustrated, while Stiles’ face remains blank from where he’s sitting upright and dressed on the table. He passes over Cora quickly before zeroes in on Derek and Derek feels his breath catch before Stiles looks to the rest of them. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of the Queen and the Captain and he looks back down at his hands, determined to avoid.

Derek walks over, reaching out for Stiles. When he flinches Derek pulls himself back, his heart aching to make sure he’s okay. He still smells of fear but his pain is stronger in the air and Derek looks down at his twitching hands before clenching his own.

His hope to make things right is fading quickly, desperate for Stiles to acknowledge him, for _any_ sign that Stiles still cared.

He reaches up and removes the chain from around his neck, holding it in his palm. “This belongs to you. I suppose you don’t want me to have it anymore.” Derek says quietly, weary of their audience.

Stiles takes it without a word, draping it over his neck.

“Are you going to ignore me every time we have a disagreement?”

Stiles shoots him a glare, his eyes cold. He looks back down at his feet.

 _Fuck_ , Derek thinks as his mouth opens and words start to form without his permission. “I’m not the only one who kept a secret–”

“Derek, as much as I would love to see you fix this, I do have my own questions for the child,” his mother interrupts. “Cora, can you go check if Allison has returned? I want to speak to her as well.”

Cora sighs and leaves and when Talia steps near and Stiles keeps his gaze down, his body going rigid.

“Can you look at me? I promise I won’t hurt you,” she says gently.

Stiles looks up, meeting her gaze. He appears steady but Derek knows he must be anything but.

“You were arrested for attacking the Lord Deucalion, is that correct?”

Stiles nods stiffly, pain refining in the air.

“I thought you were going to give him something for the pain, Deaton,” Derek snaps, only to wince at the tone of his own voice. He just kept making it worse and he couldn’t seem to make it _stop_.

His mother shoots him a glare and Derek grimaces, his eyes never leaving Stiles. “I would have, had he not been so stubborn and refused every attempt,” Deaton answers tiredly.

Silence descends upon the room until Talia rolls her eyes pointedly in her son’s direction. “Did you really attack him?”

Stiles shakes his head quickly before he inhales sharply through his nose, wincing. His mother reaches out and takes Stiles’ hand, drawing his pain. Stiles tries to pull away before he sees the black veins running up her arms, his eyes going wide and staring until she withdraws from him.

“My son seems to think you aren’t one of Harris’ prostitutes, is that true as well?”

Stiles frowns, not answering as he looks away and his hand reaches up to twist his chain. Talia sighs, looking to the ceiling before Laura speaks up.

“He used to be. It’s how he knew Deucalion, Harris… And Deaton.”

“Deaton?” She turns to him, looking guarded.

“I did not touch him, if that what you’re implying. I educated him.”

“Is this true?”

Stiles nods, not meeting anyone’s gaze.

“And now?”

“He works at an Inn with his family,” Derek says.

“He doesn’t have any family, the boy is an orphan,” Deaton counters.

“Erica, Scott and Melissa?”

“I only know of Erica. It’s good they escaped, with the way he was treated, I was afraid Harris was going to kill him when he turned sixteen.”

Stiles’ gaze snaps up to Deaton the same time Derek’s does. “You call that an _escape_?” Derek yells, digging his claws into his palms. “He nearly _died,_ Deaton, they all thought he died–”

“How do you know that?” His mother butts in. “Who is they?”

“Mom, you remember when we went into the Third?” Laura speaks up and Derek has never been more grateful to her for managing to cut him off.

“Yes, I remember. With Harris locked away I can finally manage to get that damned pole turned into firewood.”

“This is him,” she replies quietly.

“Him? What do you– _oh_ ,” she gasps. “The boy they whipped.”

She turns to Stiles, clearly trying to keep the pity off of her face. “May I see them?”

Stiles closes his eyes and nods, reaching to lift his shirt before he makes a pained sound. Talia grabs his hands, stopping him. “No, no don’t move, I’ll just lift your shirt. Is that suitable?”

Stiles nods again, breathing deeply as Derek forces himself to look away. The glimpse of pale skin and scarred tissue in between the mass of bandages makes his pulse rise again; the want of tearing into Harris and Kali, to rip them apart for what they’ve done–

The Queen and the Captain both make pained sounds at the sight of it, and Stiles’ whole body flinches when Derek sees her hands brush along the skin. “Is this the burn?” She asks as she moves around and her fingers skim across his shoulder and down his arm to the bandage wrapped around his wrist.

“It is,” Deaton says. “I’ll have to reapply a balm every few days, but it will scar like the rest of them.”

Stiles draws in a shaky breath, clenching his hands feebly. Derek longs to reach out for them, but Stiles has made it clear he never wants to see or speak or even exist in the same space as Derek does. The Captain moves around to look at Stiles and then back at Talia. “My name is Captain Stilinski. I was told you got that necklace off of your mother?”

Stiles looks up at him, his face blank before he bites his lip as his face contorts into a grimace, shaking his head. Stilinski tilts his head. “I’m confused. That’s what Derek told us. I wouldn’t expect him to lie about something that would obviously be important to you.”

Stiles lets out a scoffing noise as he drags the chain through the connecting loop, looking resigned. “He lied about himself, didn’t he?” He sneers weakly.

His voice is hoarse and Derek’s stomach lurches, wanting to take him in his arms. But he can’t, because Stiles was against him, even if he just admitted to caring about him, of being _important_ , he clearly wasn’t anything to Stiles now.

“Don’t strain yourself, your vocal chords are stressed from all the screaming,” Deaton says gently.

Stiles scowls, taking the necklace off and staring down at it, fingers trailing over the twists in the metal. “It’s caused me more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I killed a man to stop him from stealing it, a paying man, not a thief in the streets,” he admits faintly. “It’s why Harris had me whipped.”

“Harris tried to convince me to give it to him while you were unconscious. He was ready to murder you before I stopped him. I broke his wrist.”

Stiles ignores him, looking up to the Captain. “My mo– When I came across the Blind Lord, he and Kali were threatening a woman. I– She was my mother. I _thought_ she was my mother. Kali said I wasn’t lying when I told her, but apparently neither was the women when she denied me. How could neither of us be lying? How could she know that? Does it have to do with– I’m sorry, I’m overstepping my boundaries, please forgive me, I–”

“It’s okay, finish your question,” Talia says softly, a small smile on her face.

“…With how you can turn into wolves?” Stiles winces as he says it quietly, and Derek closes his eyes as everyone else’s turn on him.

“You _told_ him?” Laura asks disbelievingly.

“I have, what of it? And yes, to answer your question,” Derek directs at Stiles.

When Derek opens his eyes he’s met with incredulous stares, except for Stiles, who’s still staring at the necklace. “It was the only thing I had left of her before she sold me to Harris. Who I remembered her to be… Even those memories are a _lie_ ,” Stiles spits out, throwing the necklace down on the table beside his leg.

The Captain’s face twists when he sees it thrown, reaching out and picking it up gently, but Talia looks thoughtful as she looks between Derek and Stiles. “Did my son tell you what we could do?”

Stiles shakes his head, looking more broken than Derek has ever seen him.

“If you would allow me to, I could… I would be able to see your memories. It would show me both the things we can use as fuel against Harris and Kali, for hurting you. I might be able to dig deep enough to find your parents–”

“I don't remember them, I’ve already tried.”

“Do you doubt me?” She asks playfully and when Stiles looks up at her, he’s scared.

“Will it hurt?”

“Only a little.”

He looks back at the necklace that is being meticulously cleaned by the Captain, before he gives a small nod. Derek wants to step closer, except his mother shoots him a look when he tries as she gently moves some of Stiles’ hair out of his face.

“What’s your name, my boy? I didn’t catch it earlier.” She asks as her fingers brush along his shirt and across his neck. As she skates over the bruises Derek had left from the night before he tries not to blush, but Laura’s small smirk in his direction tells him he failed.

Her fingers are just positioning themselves at the back of his neck and Derek realises she’s trying to distract him.

“My name is Stiles.”

Derek watches as his mother’s claws shoot out and sink into his skin, the pair of them gasping at the sensation. Derek would keep watching except he hears something break, turning his attention to where the Captain is staring at the shattered remains of the bowl of water he had been using to help clean and polish the silver.

“Ser?” Derek asks, and Stilinski is staring at the necklace like he might collapse.

Laura is grabbing a chair, making him sit before his legs seem to give out as his hands start shaking. She takes his hands and tries to get him to look at her, but then he looks to Derek instead. He opens his mouth but then Talia stumbles away from Stiles, whose whole body begins to shiver.

“John, it was Julia who he remembered, but I saw her– he’s– he’s your–”

“ _Claudia_ ,” he breathes, looking to Stiles. “It really is him?”

Stiles is trembling and looking dazed, before tears start to well over as he stares at Talia. “That was my mother? The woman I saw?” He asks, sounding minuscule and hopeful and defeated all at once.

She nods, taking the necklace off of the table and draping it back over Stiles’ neck. “This _is_ yours, I believe.”

Laura and Derek are silent, not knowing what to do, until Talia reaches over and takes the Captain’s hands out of Laura’s and pulls him up. Derek knows he realises the situation in front of him, but it doesn’t hit him entirely until she directs him to stand in front of Stiles and rest their palms on one another’s.

“Stiles, meet your father.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new years everybody :)

The sharp pain at the back of his neck dulls almost instantly and Stiles has no control over the memories that fly through his mind. It’s all on display for the Queen Talia to see; glimpses of some things while watching other scenes unfold in their entirety.

_The sudden burning on his wrist as he screams out in pain, unable to move and escape. She laughed when she tore the clothes from his body before, mocking him as she tore his fingernails–_

_He’s back in the alley, Jennifer -or was it Julia?- swearing he’s not hers. Her face lingers before he feels Deucalion trying to touch him when abruptly he’s pinned beneath his strong body, unable to do anything but cry out and pretend he’s not in pain as his hips bleed when nails claw at him–_

_Erica is laughing as she presses the large bruise on his neck, Scott smiling with them before Melissa is there too, and his own voice tells her he wishes he was hers to call a son. He’s in his room with Erica, knowing he’s smiling as he watches her sleeping face, peaceful at last–_

_Stiles is kissing Derek as they hide from the guards, the look of adoration he’s confronted with when they break apart makes his heart twist–_

_Derek is kissing him, trying to push his shirt up before Stiles feels himself turn away, ashamed and scared–_

_“Derek,” he breathes, feeling his mouth move but having no control of his words as Derek presses into him. It’s over before it began as he hears Derek whisper his name and the soft feeling of tears being brushed away, the wave of self-loathing before Derek tells him he’s safe–_

_The pressing of butterfly wings as he kisses his face, like he’s precious–_

_“You’re wrong. You deserve better than me.” It feels wrong to hear the words again, now knowing the truth–_

_“I’ve heard they can turn into wolves as well–”_

_“Do you say that to all the pretty little things that come your way?” “Just the one–”_

_“Everyone lies, Derek–”_

_“Sorry, I– I shouldn’t say those things to you. I know how you feel about them.” He feels so stupid as he watches it replay in his mind, insulting Derek and his family to his face countless times now. And now the Queen was seeing it too–_

_He’s playing with Jennifer’s hair, singing a song with her before she wraps him in a blanket by the fire. The nights are getting colder that the windows are frosted in the mornings, and the winds are getting too cold for his small body to bare and then she’s holding a purse of gold–_

_Melissa is smiling sweetly at him from her bed, her brown curls wild as Erica sits behind her and brushes them back. She touches his hand, telling him they’ll always have a place in her home for as long as they want. Her lips press against his forehead before he moves around to help Erica with the braid she’s practicing, twisting her hair between their fingers. Scott comes in with words dying on his tongue, staring at where Stiles is finishing the braid in Erica’s blonde hair. “You both look beautiful–”_

_Harris is there, his bony hands leading him away from the corpse of his friend, demanding he give him the necklace. Stiles feels too big for the body he’s remembering, and he tries to run. A fist greets his face as he’s forced into a room with a large man–_

_He’s tied to the pole, almost as fresh as the memories of he and Derek, feeling hands and feet smash against his skin until he cries out at the drag and pull of the bones on the tips of the whip arms–_

_Erica is brushing his hair back as she makes a poor attempt of cleaning and bandaging his back in the room where he’s suddenly a child once again, staring over the endless pages of the thick books while Deaton sits beside him and asks meaningless questions–_

_The feeling of despair of knowing there’s no one coming to help him, throughout his whole life; in the cellar, in the alleyways, on the platform, as hands tear at his body. He’s screaming at Deaton in the middle of the street, trying to swallow the bile in his mouth as the man’s face stays ever calm, when all this time he planned to leave, leave Stiles and Erica, leave them like everyone else, he’s screaming he’ll slit the man’s throat if he comes near him again–_

_Stiles isn’t sure if it’s a memory or a dream as he hears Derek’s voice, wrapped in his arms as he feels nothing but pain coursing through his body. He feels so close and he knows he’s crying as his dream of Derek wears his necklace, whispering that he loves him, and that’s how he knows it’s definitely not a memory because Derek would never–_

_The dirty silver necklace in his hands as he sits outside with Erica, knowing he needs to clean it but being unable to bring himself to go through the tedious motions to remove the dirt in the layers of the center. She’s laughing but it turns into pleading with him in a back alley, tears flowing from her eyes as Stiles is trying to tell her he’s not in pain, but his wounds have torn open and he’s bleeding and they both know he’d be lying, when strong arms lift him and tell them to follow him for shelter–_

_Scott’s laughter filling his head as he smiling brightly when Stiles makes his hesitant first steps after his forced bed rest and he doesn’t collapse. He’s lying in Erica’s bed, crying as she holds him tightly and tries to chase away his nightmares, when Scott opens the door and sees them and rushes to them and sandwiches Stiles between them–_

_Scott is blushing and asking for his help about Allison and Stiles feels the warmth go through him as Scott tells him he’s designing a ring–_

_Erica’s smiling at Boyd and Stiles feels the rush of joy go through him all over again at seeing his sister look like that. But then he can see her writhing on the floor and he can’t do anything but turn her on her side, begging the others for space. He feels the pain of not knowing what to do all over again, of seeing her and being unable to help–_

_The lifeless eyes staring at him as he takes his necklace back as well as the man’s coin– Stiles is bombarded with the images of it all, fingers skirting along countless loaves of fresh bread so the others won’t stave, slipping his skinny fingers into purses as he plies them with wine, hoping once again that maybe it will be his lucky day and they’ll be unable to hold their minds and they’ll slip into unconsciousness. It never happens as he climbs onto their laps or sinks beneath them. He sees more dead eyes, ones he caused–_

_The poison. Sitting atop of a scrambling body as they struggle for the air under a pillow in their own home. The silent gasps in the backs of alleys as they tried to grab him and not give him payment, his knife sliding into their stomachs. Feeling his bare hands close around the tiny throat of one of the other children, to end their wretched existence in their damaged body after a man left them in the room. Stiles wants to vomit at the things he’s forgotten, seeing their broken face again makes him cry out but he hears nothing except for their pleas beforehand. His tears drip onto their bloody face and he can’t do anything else but sob when the life leaves them. He goes to Harris and tears his nails across his face, leaving the man’s face as disfigured as the rest of them feel–_

_He hears her voice, soft and gentle as she tells him not to lose her necklace, but it’s not Jennifer’s voice. He sees a flash of brown hair and brown eyes, and then a pair light eyes and sandy hair as they laugh and he feels so warm as they embrace him. Stiles isn’t sure if this is real, it can’t be real–_

_That’s when he sees it, the memory feeling more like a dream, of being curled up in the arms of a dark haired woman as she cries as he tries to make her smile. “Mama no sad._ ”

 _“I’m not sad, Stiles, I’m scared._ ”

_“Why Mama?”_

_“I’m sorry, baby, I love you_ ,” _she says, tears flowing down her face_.

“ _I love you, Mama._ ”

 _“Stiles, baby, I want you to take this,_ ” _she presses the pendant into his tiny hand, looping the chain over his neck as he stares into her brown eyes._ _“Don’t you_ ever _lose it. Don’t let the woman take it from you, okay? I’ll come and get you when I’m safe._ ”

_“When’s that?”_

_“A few days, baby, just a few days, I promise,_ ” _she said, pressing her lips to his forehead. “If I can’t find you, your Papa will be able to find you with this, okay? So you can’t lose it.”_

_“I miss Papa.”_

_She smiles, nodding her head._

_“He’ll be home soon, I promise, baby.”_

 

 

Stiles can’t stop shivering when he blinks in the light around him, his whole body quaking as he tries to pull in steady breathes. He feels like he’s waking from a deep sleep, dazed and incredibly weak as he tries to clench his hands. Everything Stiles remembered, as well as the things he didn’t know existed or things he tried to shut away, he can’t breathe as he feels tears spill from his eyes.

The Queen trips her way over to the Captain, looking pale. “John, it was Julia who he remembered, but I saw her– he’s– he’s your–”

“ _Claudia_ ,” he breathes, looking at Stiles. “It’s really him.”

None of it makes sense but he turns to the Queen and he’s so scared about the woman he saw. She was so beautiful and so kind but if it wasn’t her, Stiles didn’t know what he’d do. “That was my mother? The woman I saw?”

She nods, taking the necklace off of the table by the Captain and she loops it over his head. “This is yours, I believe.”

He’s not paying attention to anything else, seeing the image of her in the forefront of his mind as he stares down at the metal, looking clean for once in its existence. Stiles can see the engravings in the centre, the layers cleaned of dirt. It falls out of his hand when he realises it’s the shape of a rose, and then his fingers are being grasped by warm ones, and Stiles looks up as the Queen places his hand in the Captain’s.

Stiles is about to ask why, but he feels a shock of familiarity at the sandy hair and light eyes, even just from the passing memory and the feeling of ghost arms around him.

“Stiles, meet your father.”

He’s staring and he can’t stop, trying to memorise every line of his face. The old, pained eyes as he watches Stiles with the same intensity.

“This has got to be a joke,” he says bluntly, trying to push it all away. He can’t be like them. Everything he’s been through, there’s no way he could be like them. He’s killed people and he’s stolen because it was the only way to survive. His whole life has been catering to them against his will; he’s a whore through and through–

There’s several broken sounds in the air and Stiles realises he just said all of that out loud, the Captain’s– no, his _father’s_ face crumbling.

“She said you’d come find me,” Stiles whispers, his mother’s words ringing in his head. “You never came–”

“You– you were dead, that woman said you _died_ and I– you look just like her,” he says, bringing his hand up to Stiles’ face and brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. “Just like Claudia.”

He’s wrapped in warm arms, holding him close and the only person he’s felt touch him like this before is Melissa, and he wonders this must be how the other children feel when their parents embrace them. Stiles’ fingers clutch at the cotton, trying to pull him closer but his fingers still feel like they’re burning but he doesn’t care at all.

It’s younger than he’s ever felt, being held tight in his father’s arms, wondering if he’s still supposed to feel this empty.

The Captain pulls away, running his hand over his face not all that subtly. The Queen sends Stiles a smile before she turns to Deaton.

“Did you know who he was?”

Deaton shakes his head. “I had a suspicion as to who he was when I came back. I tried to find him after, but… I thought Stiles been killed.”

“How did you know?”

“I knew that he had the necklace. So when I went back and was told he had been dead for several weeks, I thought it would be best for old wounds to stay closed.”

Stiles’ has to clear his throat before he can speak. “Why did you do all those things for me? The books, the money…”

“It was my feeble attempt to get you away from Harris. I should have tried harder. At the time I did not know your parentage, just simply knew that under all that rage and threatening to slit my throat, you were still that little boy who was trying to play in the mud with his sister. That kind of innocence is hard to lose.”

A vicious laugh comes out of Stiles’ mouth at the thought of it, and he tries to push himself off the table but his legs start to collapse beneath him. The Captain’s hands rushed out to hold him up, looking as distressed as Stiles felt.

“Why can’t he stand?” Derek snaps, and Stiles tries not to flinch away from the harshness in his voice.

He always knew good things didn’t last. Derek was probably so disgusted by Stiles that he wanted him out of the palace as soon as possible, no matter if he was the Captain’s son. Stiles was still just trying to comprehend that he had a _father_ , of all things. What Derek thought of him now didn’t matter to him, no matter how much it hurt. He knew what he was, he wouldn't need these people to rub it in his face.

“His feet need time to heal from the bruises. I would presume Kali used a cane to lash his feet with for trying to run away, although none of that pierced his skin like the rest. She has a wolf's strength, so it's surprising she didn't break his bones in the process.”

Stiles closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, counting to ten. “How long will that take?” He asked tersely.

“As long as it takes. The burn is another matter–”

“So about the same as usual, Deaton?” Stiles asks tersely, trying to rein in his emotions.

Everyone pauses and looks between them; he can feel his father’s eyes on his face as Stiles turns to glare at Deaton. Deaton gives a reluctant nod, not meeting Stiles’ stare.

Stiles sighs, leaning into the warmth of his father’s arms, resigning himself for the eventual loss. “When should I leave? After I can walk?”

He wishes he never opened his mouth as the warmth disappears and his chin is being held. He flinches at the memories of its countless repetition, preparing himself for the blow that never comes when he hears the Queen’s sharp inhale.

“John, don’t do that–”

The hand moves, cradling his face gently and he relaxes instantly, trying to look anywhere but the sad eyes trying to bore into his soul.

“Who said anything about you leaving? I just got you back, Stiles; I’m not losing you again.”

“You... You want me to stay?” He’s so confused at what he should be feeling, there’s one part of him that wants to hold on and never let go of this man, while there’s another that tells him he doesn’t know him, nor deserve their kindness, will never deserve this kindness being extended to him. The third and final part of him just wants to go to sleep and never wake up.

“On behalf of everything, Stiles,” the Queen says as she takes one of his hands, “I want to apologise. None of this should have happened to you. What I saw… What I felt, nothing I say can probably even make you feel remotely better about this. But there will be justice, for you and for your mother, and every person you’ve had to protect. There are already plenty of rooms prepared already, I’m sure you can find one that will be suitable for you, and your father and I will arrange for you to have guards at the door so no more harm can come to you.”

“I… Thank you, my Queen. Really, I don’t know if–”

“Call me Talia. You’re family to me now, Stiles. I’ll make sure everyone treats you as such.”

“That’s not necessary–” he tries to say, but the woman who said she was Deaton’s sister is gently draping one of his arms over her shoulders and telling him to keep the pressure off of his feet as the Captain supports his other side.

They lift him over to one of the cots in the joining room, laying him down on his back to keep the pressure off of his bruised front. Morrell disappears back through the door, leaving Stiles and the Captain in the room alone. He won’t quit staring at Stiles, his eyes darting over his face like he’s so thankful, it makes Stiles want to turn away from his eye but he can’t without hurting himself more.

The door opens and Morrell comes back in with a vial and a bowl of water, passing it to the Captain before she turns him carefully on to his side. He resolutely tries to ignore the pain that shoots through him, watching as she takes the objects back from the Captain. “This should help you sleep until your wounds are healed. Sleep on your back until then and just three drops in a glass of water before bed, no more or no less.”

Stiles nods, taking it from her as she puts three drops in the water and precisely lift it to his mouth so he can drink. Immediately he can feel it’s strength as she moves him back on to his stomach. He watches her leave with drooping eyes, the Captain putting a gentle hand on Stiles’ shoulder as slowly his world fades.

 

 

Stiles wakes up feeling like his mouth is full of cotton, reaching up with a pained groan to rub his eyes. His whole body aches and he tries to push himself up into a sitting position, the brand on his wrist throbbing with heat.

He’s not sure how long he sits there with his head in his hands, trying to compose himself. Whatever had been in the mix Morrell had given him had given him had knocked him out fast, and he feels like he hasn’t slept all night. Stiles drops his hands down, reaching for his feet and turning them over to see the dark bruises lining them. He knows he shouldn’t touch them, but he presses a finger to the swollen purple skin only to hiss at the pain from both his foot and finger.

Stiles sees the fur blanketing the bed and he realises that this is not the same place he fell asleep in, looking up blearily at the room as he takes it all in.

It’s as big as the room he was shoved in to with everyone back in the brothel, with a fireplace in the nearby wall, and a widely stretched bookshelf that greets a balcony facing the green trees of the forest he’s only imagined seeing this close. He didn’t even know it was night until he looked out the balcony. It’s then he realises it’s the furthest he’s ever been away from the Third Circle, and the closest he’s been to the last Wall of Beacon. Beyond the Wall guarding the forest there is nothing as far as he knows, because the Argent land is in the opposite direction.

He’s sitting on the bed and he hears a door open and Stiles knows he should say something. Nothing pops to mind so he sits and looks around; the soft fabric of the bed covers makes him want to go back to sleep. It’s so surreal that he belatedly remembers there is someone in the room and his gaze shoots up to see the Captain taking a seat beside him.

“How did you move me?”

“We had some of the guards lift the cot,” he says with a grimace. “I was worried it would aggravate your injuries but Marin and Alan assured me you would be fine. How did you sleep?”

“Good, that’s… good. I was out for a while, I guess,” Stiles nods, curling his hands together as awkwardness settles down on him. “I have no idea how to be a good son,” he blurts. “Or a son at all, I guess.”

The Captain smiles then, a real, actual smile, and Stiles finds himself smiling hesitantly. “I had to go leave with the army when you were only three. If we’re both being truthful, I don’t have any real idea how to be a good father.”

Stiles can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him, grinning widely as he looks at the man. “We’ll just have to improvise, Ser.”

He’s still unsure if he’s allowed to touch, and then the Captain makes a face. “How about we do what feels natural? My name is John,” he says, holding his hand out.

Stiles accepts it and he shakes it, wondering what he’s supposed to say back. “Uh, my name is Stiles?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Stiles.” He must catch Stiles’ questioning look, because he continues “I’m not sure if you feel comfortable calling me your father yet, and I’m definitely not comfortable with you calling me Ser, so just call me John until you're ready.”

“Thank you… John.”

The Captain smiles and Stiles looks away, taking in the things he missed earlier. There’s a desk a ways from the fireplace, writing tools ordered across it. There’s a smaller door which he presumes is full of clothes, a paneled folding screen decorated with grey shapes near it. He can’t make out the patterns but the entwined lines of red, blue, and gold look regal.

There’s a knock on the door and Morrell pushes it open, the medicine in hand, glass in the other, and two men behind her. “Stiles, I didn’t think you would be awake for a few more hours” she says, holding the small vial out to Stiles as she checks his bandages.

“I’ll see you after you rest, Stiles. Get some more sleep,” he says as he ruffles the hair on Stiles’ head.

He laughs as Stiles tries to push his hands away, Stiles meeting his smile as he leaves.

Stiles can hear the muffled conversation from the guards, but he ignores it in favour of downing the water, Morrell helping to settle himself back down onto the bed.

His eyes are immediately heavy, drifting shut as sleep takes over him.

 

 

Stiles turns his face towards the window when he next wakes, the dark of the night fighting against the light of the dawn. Unsure of what to do, Stiles attempts to put his feet on the floor and lets out a whimper when he starts to put his weight on them. They're not swollen anymore but they're beginning to yellow in the areas that are the least bruised.

He tells himself it’s just a quick trip, because he feels a pent up energy from being immobile. Stiles wonders how long he’s been asleep, because his body aches whenever he shifts, a different sort of pain.

He regrets everything by the time he reaches the desk. Stiles has to sit down from feeling drained even from just that short walk, taking a shaky breath as he buries his head in his arms on the wood of the table. Just a few minutes, Stiles tells himself as he closes his eyes.

Stiles opens his eyes when he feels a weight on his shoulder, head shooting up instantly to see the Captain’s stare. “How did you get to the chair?”

The room is lighter now, the sunrise further into early morning as the light filters through the room. Stiles looks over the Captain’s shoulder to see a disapproving Deaton with a tray in his hands. “Uh… I walked?”

He’s met with stares from the pair of them and Stiles feels guilty. “I had nothing to do,” he tries.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I didn’t have anything to do. I should be helping… prepare breakfast or cleaning tables right now, I couldn’t just sit in bed–”

The Captain closes his eyes and nods, sighing. “So you tried to find something to do?”

“I was aiming for the books but I had to sit down before I got there. I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep either but–”

“When did you wake up?” Deaton asks, cutting off Stiles’ rambling. He’s only slightly thankful for that, because he’s still not sure how to act.

“Around dawn,” he answers.

“Well, Alan was going to put some salve on your burn while we waited for your breakfast to come up. Do you want it here on in the bed?”

Stiles frowns, bewildered by the question. “Why would I eat food in bed?”

The Captain meets his confused expression until Deaton walks forward and puts the tray down on the table, and Stiles can see the smirk playing on his lips. “Roll your sleeve up for me, Stiles.”

Stiles struggles a little with the pull of his skin, his fingers stinging as he folds the fabric up to his elbows. The Captain looks away when Deaton unties the wrapping over his wrist and Stiles tries not to wince at the tugging against his skin. Belatedly he hears the door open, followed by the muted gasp of someone behind them as Deaton is folding the wrappings on to the tray.

“Lady Martin?” The Captain asks, turning to whoever Stiles supposes came into the room.

“Ser, the Hales asked me to come find you urgently regarding the prisoners.”

“Oh hells, Stiles do you need me here?”

“I’m fine,” he says, flinching when Deaton applies the first dab of the cool liquid.

“Are you sure?” The Captain asks again, worry etched into the lines of his face.

“John, I promise I’ll be fine.”

He nods and exits the room, leaving Stiles with his right hand gripping the edge of the table at the sting of the balm. Deaton stays quiet as he works, and it’s only when he’s wrapping fresh bandages around his shoulder does Stiles feel the heat start to slowly leech out of the brand. “Do you have a question, Lady Martin?”

Stiles hears her clearing her throat. “Burns should be left out to heal, you know that.”

Stiles looks up and turns to Deaton, raising his eyebrows. “I am aware that you think I deny legitimate science for my herbal remedies but we both know there is more than that in our kingdom, my Lady.”

Stiles turns to look at her and sees her beguiling face, paired with pursed lips. She’s beautiful, and Stiles looks away. He feels judged and dirty just by looking at her.

“So is this him?” She asks, sounding bored.

Stiles tries not to cringe but he knows he fails. Deaton raises his eyebrows at Stiles before he puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not sure what you’re referring too, but I must be going,” he deflects as he starts to pack up his tools. “If you need me just call for one of the guards to send for someone, understood?”

He nods, turning towards the desk.

“Someone will be up with your breakfast shortly,” Deaton says as he takes his hand off of his shoulder and pauses like he wants to say something else.

Stiles is silent as he listening to the footsteps leave, but he only hears one set. There’s a swish of a skirt and he closes his eyes, making a face down at the wood. He’s not sure what’s coming but Stiles knows he won’t enjoy it.

“So _you’re_ the whore from the dungeons?”

Stiles doesn’t answer, instead grinding his teeth.

“But you called the Captain by his name, so you must be someone important,” she muses, looking smug when Stiles’ head shoots up to look at her. “I thought as much. It’ll be easier if you just tell me what I want to know–”

“Why should I tell you anything? You haven’t done anything for me,” Stiles interrupts, bitterness lacing his words.

She smirks proudly, nodding as she sits on the edge of his bed, smoothing her hands over the cover. “I’m sure we can arrange something mutually beneficial–”

“If you’re offering your body you can get the fuck out of my room,” he snaps.

She looks even more pleased though Stiles can’t figure out why. She holds herself delicately, like she’s fragile and will break at the lightest of touches. The only thing which ruins it is the fire in her eyes, fierce and overwhelming. That’s when he figures it out; he can see it clearly, how people can underestimate her at first glance. He played that game for years and the only difference is that he didn’t play it for fun, he played it to survive.

“My name is Lydia,” she offers as she stands, holding out her hand. Stiles stares at it, unimpressed. She sighs as if exasperated. “Look, I can’t do anything if I don’t have your help. The only Hale that seems to trust me is Peter, but even he doesn’t know what’s happening in regards to the traitors and Argents right now. I want you to tell me.”

“What if I don’t know what you’re trying to find?”

“Because I can help you,” she says bluntly.

Stiles cocks his head, looking her over once more. “You don’t look like you’d be able to help me. But that’s probably the point, isn’t it?”

Lydia’s mouth spreads open in grin, nodding. “Appearance is everything in this place.”

“Appearance is everything no matter where you are. So what makes you play the meek little girl who can’t possibly understand what everyone is talking about?”

Stiles sees her lip twitch in disgust and he knows he’s found her weak spot, but he doesn’t know her so he couldn’t care. “Peter told me you mean something to Derek Hale. I’m just telling you to be careful.”

His chest feels tight but he pushes it away, when the door opens and a woman walks in with a tray of food. She walks in and places the plates on the desk in front of him, curtsying to them both before she leaves. Stiles isn’t sure how to feel about someone bowing to him, having done it himself for the most of his life.

“Stiles?” Lydia prompts, and then Stiles remembers her trying to warn him away from Derek.

“Peter Hale was wrong about Derek. He doesn’t care about me. And I’m sure I have to be a lot more people to be careful about here than just the Prince.” He’s not bitter. He’s not.

Stiles just thought he meant more to Derek than what was obviously true.

“Why would Peter be wrong about his own nephew? He was there when they removed you from the chamber.”

“If you found out the person you fucked was a whore, what would you do? Believe me; I’ve gone through worse than rejection.”

“So it is true? You’re a whore?”

“ _Was_ a whore, past tense. I’m sure half the people in the Court want me dead so their wives don’t find out they have a preference for young boys.”

“Just how many people did you service?”

Stiles picks at his food, a surreal picture of meat, bread, cheese and berries. It’s more than he’s ever seen on one plate. “Too many,” he murmurs quietly, taking a bite. He knows it should be full of flavour, but it tastes stale in his mouth from the memories.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have– I’m sorry” Lydia starts, the remorse ringing through her voice. “Most of them don’t understand what it’s like, to have to fight for a better life.”

“And you do?”

“I’m a bastard, I know a lot about having to fight for what I want. What’s one more orphan in this castle?”

Stiles gives her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure you can do better than that.”

“My mother’s husband tried to drown me as an infant when my hair grew and turned out to be red. Let’s just say my mother doesn’t speak to me anymore.”

“I found out a few days ago my father is the Captain of the guard, who thought I was dead, and only after the Queen searched through my entire memories to find my mother. Memories which include being fucked by her son, as well as being beaten, whipped and tortured.” he declares with a flourish of his fingers.

Lydia’s eyes go wide before she lets out a small huff of laughter, shaking her head. “I guess we both know a thing or two about their ability to look in the other direction.”

“Apparently,” he grins. “So why does only the one Hale trust you?”

“Peter Hale is the man who stopped my father from trying to drown me. The man practically raised me. He’s the only one who seems to think I’m worth something. ”

“And the others?”

“The Queen’s children think that because I have nearly everyone wrapped around my little finger and that as the friend of an Argent, I am a threat. All I want is to have a voice.”

“There are Argents in the palace?”

“Allison Argent. Her and Derek seem to have struck a friendship recently, I don’t know how or why, but–”

“ _Allison_ is an _Argent_?” Stiles all but shouts, thoughts crashing down around him. “She… But she– _Scott_ …”

The heartbreak and rage is flowing through him and all he wants to do is run, but he can’t because the moment he sets his feet on the ground he cries out at the force of it and draws his legs up to the chair. He’s curling in on himself, so angry because Scott _loves_ her and he doesn’t deserve a fate like Stiles. Scott deserves to be with the person he loves and now he’ll never be able to because of her _everything_ –

“Stiles!” Lydia shouts, hand on his shoulder and pushing his face up to look at her. “How do you know Allison? Who is Scott?”

“Scott’s… Scott is my brother. He and my sister- they don't even know if I'm alive. Allison used to come in with Derek and Boyd to our Inn– he was going to _propose_.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” she sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. “Wait, I thought the Captain only had one child? Yet you have a brother and sister?”

“I made myself a family and I need to go to them. Erica can’t lose me and they need to know–”

“Allison left the grounds after they found you last week. She came back a few days ago and I don’t know where she went or what happened but she closed herself off. Maybe you should talk to her.”

Stiles is quiet as he thinks about it and then nods frantically, if only to hope to find an answer. “So I have a friend in this place?”

Lydia smiles, tilting her head in acknowledgment. “We both look like we could use a friend in our lives.”

Stiles grins, thankful that there is someone who understands what it’s like. He realises with a start that she reminds him of Erica, looking for a solution where there might be none, all the while pretending to be someone else to get what you want.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few more chapters to go ;)

It takes time for Stiles to have the courage to leave his room. He has visitors most of the time; the Captain tries to stay with him as long as his duty doesn’t require him, but the visitor he receives most often is Lydia. He’s hesitant about her company at first, but she quick witted and sharp, dropping her meek façade the moment they’re alone in his room. He has been moving around his room slowly and carefully ever since Deaton had changed his tonic to help him sleep nighty rather than for days on end.

Lydia is the one who convinces him that he’ll only heal quicker if he does more and eventually he tires of her persistence. He’s looking for shoes when there’s a knock on his door and Lydia walks in, looking surprise to see him already out of bed and dressed. “You’re up early.”

“I can’t find any shoes” he frowns, causing Lydia to sigh and show him where his shabby old boots are waiting for him in a trunk; the leather stitched where there were once holes and a clean dark surface.

“I had one of the servants fetch them and take them to the cobbler with the delicacies of your feet in mind. It wouldn’t do well for you to have to break in a new pair.”

They were still as tender as the rest of his body and Stiles slid his feet inside wearily, only to find them softly lined with some sort of fur. “What–”

“Rabbit fur. It should keep you warmer in the winter when it arrives.”

Stiles lets her escort him out of his room, where the two guards standing by seem shocked to see him out of his chambers. He can’t remember the names of these two, but he remembers they denied a card game with him the night before.

There are so many steps and Stiles feels shaky by the time they even reach the bottom of the staircase. As Lydia leads him through the pristine halls and he feels like he should be scrubbed away, still frightened that if he touches anything, he will leave a stain. No matter how long he’s inhabited the room, it was nothing compared to the immaculate state of the whole palace. As they reach a set of tall wooden doors, Stiles feels Lydia shift her stance as they approach some guards, holding herself differently before they push the door open for them.

Stiles can’t take his eyes off of the room, staring at the bright tapestries until he sees movement in the corner of his eye. Stiles looks over and the Hales are sitting around a long table, along with the Captain and several prominent knights, sitting awkwardly away from the rest of them, Allison.

All of them look up as Lydia leads Stiles forward, the Captain’s eyes lighting up at seeing Stiles obviously out of bed. Only one person isn’t looking at him, one of the people who hadn’t come to see him at all, and that person is the prince.

Stiles resolutely ignores Derek because of it, taking a seat immediately when they reach the wooden bench. Lydia sits next to him and opposite of Allison, whose eyes have dark bags under them.

“Stiles, it’s wonderful to see you up and about,” Talia smiles widely at their arrival before she gestures at the food on the table surface. “Please, eat.”

Stiles reaches for a slice of bread, cheese and meat, breaking the bread carefully over his plate.

“It’s good to see you,” Allison says quietly, staring down at her hardly touched meal.

“Are you alright, Allison? You look tired,” he asks gently, reaching over to take her hand.

She looked exhausted and pale and Stiles didn’t know what was making her ill, but he wanted to make sure she was alright. Allison had come to see him with Lydia one day, looking far healthier than she was now, but she had barely said anything at the time.

“Yes, I…” She trails off, before shaking her head. “Actually, I was wondering if you would take a walk with me later, if you were feeling up to it.”

Stiles nods before he takes a small bite of his breakfast. “I would like that.”

He can feel eyes on him the whole time, but he refuses to look at the other end of the table.

 

 

The grounds are wider than Stiles expected, stretching out to the Walls surrounding it. Lydia had gone to the library when Allison had met him outside, looping her arm through his as she walked at a sedate pace. She was quiet, not saying anything as they stayed to the path. “Allison, I know there has to be something wrong. If you have an illness–”

“It’s not an illness, Stiles.”

“Then what is it? You’re my friend.”

She scoffs, shaking her head. “You mean you don’t hate me for lying to you?”

Stiles sighs, not saying a word until she finds a place for them to sit. “I was angry, I will admit. I suppose I’m still angry,” Allison grimaces at the words and won’t meet his eyes, “but that is on Scott’s behalf. I’ve had far too much time to myself to think over things… I understand why you lied, that you would have been torn to shreds out there if any single person had discovered you were an Argent. Don’t confuse my loyalty to your actions. You had a right to lie out there.”

Allison nods and her lower lip quivers before she bites down on it to stop it from trembling. “I went to see him after we found you. To let them know you were alive. I couldn’t even face him to tell him you were– I broke down. I had to go to some other place to stay. They don’t even know–”

Stiles feels a chill go through him and he takes a deep breath and nods, taking her hands which are balled up in her lap. “We can leave though, can’t we?”

She shakes her head, a tick in her jaw before she looks him in the eye. “Not yet. You’re still too weak.”

Stiles nods gently. “Then we’ll go when I’m stronger. I think the Captain wants to teach me sword fighting, for some reason. He seems excited to show me tradition.”

Allison huffs a quiet laugh, before she stands and lifts Stiles to his feet. “Come, there’s a familiar face you should see.”

Stiles grimaces but lets her guide him along and she’s talking easily now, smiling softly as they make their way around until they come to the smith. Allison pushes the door open and the heat flies out like a wave, two figures standing over by the forge as Allison directs Stiles to sit down on a chair by the nearby table.

She walks over to them and says things that Stiles can’t hear, but then the bulkier figure nods and the tall person turns and follows Allison back, wiping the sweat and dirt from their brow. “Stiles?”

“ _Isaac_?”

Isaac smiles hesitantly at him, looking relieved by the sight of him. “How– I heard you were arrested–”

“I was,” Stiles answers, eyes darting down to his wrist. He’d taken to wearing a bandage over it even when Deaton had told him it was fully healed. He couldn’t bear to look at it. “How’s… everyone, I guess?”

Isaac nods carefully, eyes darting to Allison and then down to the table. “I haven’t seen them.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks, although he understands fully well what Isaac meant. The difference in his whole being was evidence enough.

“I was offered a full position as the blacksmith’s apprentice. I haven’t been home since… Well, since I left.”

Stiles nods, staring down at the table instead of meeting their eyes. “I’m glad. I’m proud of you, Isaac.”

Isaac says his thanks and reaches out and puts his hand on one of Stiles’. “It’s because of you I even agreed. You tried so hard to get me away from my father– when it was offered to me it was because of you that I accepted in the first place. I thought of how happy you would all be… When I found out what happened–”

“Lahey, I need your hands!” The blacksmith called.

“We’re going to go out to see them when I can manage a day trip, you should come with us,” Stiles offers, not yet ready to say goodbye to his friend.

Isaac stands, eyes darting between Allison and Stiles before he smiled at them. “I would like that very much.”

 

 

Stiles starts to spend his days hidden away in the library, barely even noticing the time pass as he slowly makes his way through the seemingly infinite amount of books and scrolls. He’s becoming a faster reader the longer he sits; skipping food until someone comes to find him amidst the stacks piled high around him. The Captain chastises him whenever Stiles misses a meal, but Stiles shrugs. He doesn’t forget to eat like they imply, it’s just a deeply engraved routine for him to skip lunch and prolong eating supper until all of his duties are taken care of. He misses the routine.

He doesn’t particularly like eating with company, either. He can always feel eyes on him as he takes less food than they, and there was one incident where he thanked a servant for waiting on him and they let out a disgusted sound at the sight of him. It was barely audible, but Stiles knew his identity must have been slandered by the Court as they brought him in. Stiles hadn’t said a word for the rest of the night.

Eventually he’d requested that Lydia or Allison bring him up something, talking quietly with them in the library as he ate. The information available to him was too intriguing to leave, but it wasn’t one of his friends who brought him his supper that evening. Two knights who he’d seen around sat down at the table and one slid his tray over to him, the pair of them in jerkins and pants, looking casual as he’d ever seen them.

“Lydia tells me you used to be a whore,” the blonde one says bluntly.

The other knight slaps his friend on the arm, looking horrified. “ _Really_ , Jackson? This is the Captain’s son, remember.”

The first knight, Jackson, looks sheepish and guilty while the other knight sighs. “I apologise, he has no sensitivity at all. You’re Stiles, aren’t you?”

Stiles nods, raising his brows at them before he began to eat his meal. “I am. And I was a whore; I don’t see why I should be ashamed of that.” What a lie that was too, and the look on both of their faces seemed to know it. Lydia had tried to convince him to wear it like armour, but he just couldn’t. Even just saying the words made him flinch.

“My name is Danny Mahealani. This idiot is Jackson Whittemore. Your father wanted me to invite you training with us to get your strength back,” he smiled and his cheeks dimpled, and Stiles found himself reluctantly agreeing.

The Captain had been talking of it for weeks now and Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to tell them he wasn’t built for combat. Even with his work at the Inn his hands were barely calloused, still just as soft as when he had lived in the brothel.

He kept eating, though they did not leave. Stiles looked up from his plate, eyes darting between the two of them. “Is there something else?”

Jackson has been staring at Stiles this whole time, kept quiet by his friend. But then he opens his mouth. “So you’ve slept with plenty of women?”

Danny looks at Jackson and makes a face before he shakes his head down at the table.

“Yes, I’ve slept with plenty of women. Plenty of men as well.”

Jackson nods, his refined jaw clenching as he scrunches his face up in irritation. “Do you…”

Danny makes a noise of pain and bangs his head on the table several times, and Stiles bites back a smirk that threatens. “Do I what?”

“ _I hate her for this_ ,” he mutters to himself. “Can you teach me how to please a woman?”

Stiles chokes on a surprised burst of laughter. “ _What_?”

“How. To. Please. A. Woman,” he bites out. “Can you do it?”

“Yes I can do it, but I don’t– we’re talking about Lydia, aren’t we?”

Jackson’s face goes bright red and Danny snorts. “He’s been pining over her. She won’t have sex with him again until he learns how to satisfy her.”

“She has mentioned you before, I think. You’re the one hoping to marry her?” Stiles grins widely. He nods sullenly and Stiles almost feels bad for him. “Do you touch her?”

Jackson looks offended at that. “Of course I do–”

“Let me rephrase. Do you touch her softly? Caress her? _Worship her_ , that’s my first tip. The second is to be gentle unless she tells you otherwise– I’m talking gentle like a butterfly wing, not whatever your soldier version of gentle is. Go to the kitchens or to Morrell or Deaton and get some purified oil from them. Use it. My last piece of advice is to use your tongue.”

Jackson is staring at him wide eyed and thankful, nodding quickly as he repeats the words back to himself. “Wait– where would I use my tongue?”

Danny makes sobbing sounds now, shaking his head from where it’s pressed to the surface of the table.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Stiles smirks, thanking them as they pick up his empty tray of food.

He turns back to the pages of the book in front of him.

 

 

It’s a few days later when he’s sitting a breakfast with Allison. They’re still at the end of the table, but somehow everyone has gravitated closer towards them. Of course the Hales never sit directly next to them, just a few places away. Stiles finds it more disconcerting than the lack of Lydia’s presence.

“I wonder where Lydia has gotten to,” Peter muses.

Stiles has learned through Lydia what a fiercely protective man he is. Stiles began to like him immediately when he approached them in the library a few days after Stiles had the strength to leave his room, asking if Stiles was her new boy toy. Of course, the humour had immediately left him when he asked if his nephew was aware. After he left, Lydia sighed and explained he liked to deliberately antagonise people because he could read them easily. Stiles tried to avoid him as much as any other Hale after that incident, though it was not easy to avoid him when he kept himself holed up in the library. The situation was unavoidable.

The doors open and drag Stiles out of his thoughts, looking up  to see Lydia with the smuggest expression he’d ever seen, her hair out of place as though she didn’t have time before coming to greet them all. She walks over to the table and places her hand on Stiles’ shoulder before she leans over his other side and presses a kiss to his cheek, no doubt leaving a red imprint of her paint for the entire Crown family to see. He knew exactly what her game was and he wanted to see the impact it caused.

“What was that for?” Stiles asks with a knowing smile.

She sits down next to him, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she reaches for some fruit. “For using tongue.”

He hears the people around them choking on air or whatever they have in their mouths and Stiles grins at Allison, who laughs and shakes her head down at her plate.

“I’m glad I could be of service,” he teases.

Someone clears their throat to the right of and they all turn to look, seeing the horrified expressions of the Crown family except for Peter, who looks like a cat who got the cream. He can see Derek’s hands in fists on the table next to Boyd and Stiles looks away only to see the Captain’s reaction instead, his face torn between horrified and confused.

The door opens as Talia opens her mouth, all of them turning to look at the newcomer, only to see a dishevelled Jackson walking in, his face a bright red as he stares down at his feet.

“Whittemore?” The Captain asks, and Jackson winces as he turns to Lydia.

“You forgot this, my Lady” he says, holding out her jewelled hairpin.

Lydia smirks down at the object before she takes it delicately in her hands and pins up various bunches of her hair. Suddenly she looks immaculate, and Stiles can’t keep the grin off of his face when he sees the looks on the Hales’ faces.

“Thank you, Jackson.”

Jackson bows before he turns and practically runs out of the room, but Stiles can only do so much to hold in his laughter. Lydia tries to stifle a giggle and he loses it, trying to smother his howls of laughter against his knuckles. He fails as soon as he meets Allison’s eye, who starts laughing with he and Lydia.

 

 

Stiles is reading over the treaty of families from one of the scrolls he lifted from the restricted area when he hears someone moving between the stacks. Immediately Stiles slides another book he’s reading over the top of it, trying to look inconspicuous.

The chair opposite him is dragged along the stone floor, the new occupant obviously waiting for Stiles to glance at them. He doesn’t.

“Would you at least do me the courtesy of looking at me?” The female voice says. He’s never heard them before so he sighs and looks up, internally blanching at the sight of the youngest Hale member.

“It was Cora, wasn’t it?”

She nods with a forced smile. “It is.”

Stiles looks back down at the book, trying to find his spot in the words. He reads in silence for a few minutes longer before she clears her throat.

“Can I be of some assistance, your highness?” Stiles asks casually, his eyes never once leaving the page. He’s stopped reading the words completely now, just pretending so he doesn’t have to meet her intense gaze.

It’s something he has realised is a shared trait in the Hale family.

“I want you to tell me about the outside.”

Now he looks up, “the outside?”

“Outside the Walls,” she grits out. “Unlike my siblings, I have no idea where the damned hole is.”

“Hole?”

“In the Wall. It’s what they used to leave without anyone knowing.”

“And why can’t you just search for it?”

She sighs and looks defeated, something that Stiles’ refuses to let himself pity. “Because unlike my siblings, I’m under constant watch if I go to the grounds.”

His defence crumbles over the shielded look in her eyes, as if she’s trying to pretend she’s not hurt at not being able to explore. A prisoner in her own home, he realises. Stiles can relate. “What have Laura and… Laura and Derek told you?”

She picks at the wood table top with a nail. “They don’t.”

Stiles sighs and closes the book, his fingers skimming at the clasp on his bandage. “It’s nothing like you probably imagine.”

“I never expected it to be. But I can’t constantly live in ignorance because they want to protect me from the world. I need to be able to want what’s best for the people too.”

He stares at her for a few moments before he shakes his head with a laugh. “The problem is that you _don’t_ know what’s best for us. I’ve been reading the transcripts of the council meetings–”

“Those are _restricted_ ,” she hisses.

“–I am perfectly aware of that, thank you. My point is that even if your brother and sister have been to the other circles, what we… The _people_ need, is more than trying to end the rationing. There is so much more than that going on.”

“Tell me,” she says confidently. “I want to know.”

“You really don’t.”

But Stiles finds himself tells her everything at the look in her eyes. Everything he can think of, excluding things that include her brother, every memory he has from being stepped on by not only _her_ people, but by his own. He can see the wheels in her brain turning as he speaks, even tells her about how he wishes he could go down to the kitchens and help do _something_ , but how he can’t bring himself to take that step after the reactions from the servants he’s had.

She starts to look angry and Stiles sighs, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s nice that Allison and Lydia don’t care about any of that. I feel like I’m wanted.”

“What about your father?”

“John is trying to ignore it without making it appear he doesn’t care. He cares; he’s just at a loss at how to acknowledge that that has been the one constant throughout my life.”

"And surely you don't think I'm blind to your avoidance of Derek, do you?"

Stiles sighs, rubbing his temple. “I was certain people noticed, but I had hoped you would be more delicate about it than Lydia had been.”

Cora frowns, taking one of his hands. “Would you tell me?”

“That your brother hasn’t spoken to me after I woke up and he found out I was a whore? I thought I’d save myself the embarrassment of making it known I was a hurt fool.”

“So you _do_ care about him?”

“Cora, you have to understand that I have gone my whole life being used by those above me. I bedded your brother thinking that I would never have it known who I used to be. Both my sister and I– we did things I never thought we could possibly achieve after we escaped. I hadn’t touched myself since I left third circle and I was intent on keeping it that way, and then your brother came along… After they found me I was feverish and delusional, and I hallucinated your brother telling me he loved me, and I loathe whatever crevice of my mind created that.”

“Why would you hate something that powerful?”

“It has made everything so much _worse_ than before, when I could just pretend that the way he touched me and spoke to me was how he treated all his lovers. My mind has betrayed me, and I can’t bear the heartbreak I feel when I see him because all I hear are those damn words and he won’t even spare me the time of day because of how vile I am.”

Cora’s jaw ticks and she looks up at Stiles with a fire in her eyes. “You’re not vile, Stiles. The gods are cruel sometimes; you cannot blame yourself for their choosing.”

“The gods have done nothing for me, Cora. Even if they decided this for me, this isn’t where I belong. I won’t let them use me for their pleasure any longer.”

“And you would just deny them?” At his silence, Cora sighs. “I want to know you, Stiles. I don’t have many friends besides my siblings and the wolves.”

“Then perhaps you should talk to those who share your table.” Cora makes a face an opens her mouth, but Stiles cuts her off, “I convinced your brother to give Allison a chance. If even he can do that, so should you.”

She sighs and nods. “Fine. Any other pieces of advice while I’m here?”

“The blacksmith took on an apprentice who I am friends with. He could use more faces to recognise.”

Cora smiles and stands. “Thank you, Stiles.”

“Goodbye, Cora.”

 

 

“Never forget your footwork,” the Captain says gently, demonstrating again to Stiles.

The sword was heavy in his hands and his hand already felt like they were blistering from his hour in their training session. Stiles nods again and sits on the ground; inspecting his hands subtly as John went on to show him the technique with Boyd.

Boyd hadn’t said a word to Stiles either, whether from Derek’s command or his own choice, Stiles didn’t know. This wasn’t something Stiles was particularly enjoying, but John looked still looked at Stiles like he was a gift from the gods and Stiles didn’t want to see that look disappear from another face when inevitably he did the wrong thing.

Stiles sighs as he watches, Danny and Jackson and all the other off-duty knights sparring nearby before he meets Cora’s amused smirk from her seat on the bench. Cora had ended up convincing Allison to join her in watching him train, both watching Stiles eagerly with bright smiles on their faces. It had been a week later after his talk with Cora that she joined them at breakfast, hesitantly making conversation with both Allison and Lydia. Now he couldn’t get rid of all three of them if they came to see him in the library or his room.

John halts his movement, looking at something behind Stiles. “Derek, are you joining us today?”

Stiles looks down at the grass he has been shredding before he runs his thumbs over his palms.

“If you can spare the people,” Derek replies, sounding bored.

Stiles grits his teeth and stands, pulling the sword up with him as he steps towards the Captain.

John smiles at Derek, nodding. “Why don’t you partner Stiles? You’re always good with the beginners.”

Stiles bites back the insult that was half formed in his already open mouth, turning to Derek. His once enchanting eyes were devoid of any emotion, simply nodding and taking the sword that Boyd offered him. It made it so much worse to have him so near.

The Captain and Boyd stepped back, both seeming content to watch them as Derek instructed him. “You need to keep your feet shoulder width apart.”

Stiles complies, keeping his mouth shut from saying anything.

“Always watch your surroundings as well as your opponent, otherwise defending yourself will be over quickly.”

Stiles creases his brow in distaste. He already knows how to defend himself. He uses his knife and his body, just like he always has.

“Treat the sword like it’s an extension of your arm–” Derek steps in and easily removes the sword from his hands in a quick move. “You have to actually grip the sword for it to work. If you sword is slipping out during a fight you would be dead in a heartbeat.”

He passes it back to Stiles, who clamps down on his comments about his hands and the Prince’s use of the phrase ‘slipping out’. Now was not the time.

“I’m going to come at you now,” he says.

There’s no warning as he begins his assault, at which Stiles just drops his sword to the ground and holds his hands up in surrender to placate the Prince. The sight was slightly terrifying but he didn’t want _anybody_ coming at him with a sword, let alone _Derek_. Derek stops his sword from swinging as he holds it above Stiles’ forehead, his control impeccable.

Laughter comes from both Cora and Allison, who Stiles shoots glares at and finds that they have moved to the front of the crowd of knights and squires gathered to watch them spar. Stiles hears a snicker from the Captain and Boyd, and Derek looks down at the sword unimpressed. “Pick it up.”

“No,” Stiles says bluntly.

“Do you want to learn how to defend yourself or not?” He snaps, and it sets Stiles off.

“Learn how to defend myself?” He repeats incredulously. More calmly than he feels, he picks up the sword. “I’m going to come at you now,” Stiles mimics.

Derek raises his sword in preparation, and Stiles just tosses his to the side and ignores Derek’s confused look as he swiftly moves towards him. Derek recovers when Stiles is within blade range. Derek drops the sword and tries to block Stiles with his hands and arms, but Stiles just twists around him and kicks the back of Derek’s knee before he hooks his leg around the other and shoves him face first into the ground, his hand smoothly withdrawing from his clothes.

Derek tried to roll out from under him, only being able to turn on to his back before Stiles presses his knee down on Derek’s crotch, the breath leaving Derek in a pained groan, and Stiles smirks coldly when Derek realises he’s holding a knife above his throat.

Stiles has control too. He just doesn’t advertise it. Another one of his defences. Appearance was everything, more so in the lower parts of the city. Why attack anybody who looks like they didn’t have anything worth stealing?

“I already know how to defend myself.” Stiles hisses down at Derek, unable to keep the spite from his voice.

He gets off of Derek, deliberately pressing his weight down on to Derek’s dick before he stands and retracts the blade back into the handle.

Stiles looks to the crowd, zeroing in on the Captain and Boyd, both with matching shocked expressions. Stiles blinks and pockets his knife. “I’ll be in the library.”

He stalks off, not waiting to see if any of them follow.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this would have totally been up last week but I wasn't fully sure with it all and was with my friend Robynne and you should all thank her because she read it and I dragged her down to hell with her first teen wolf marathon ALSO i love it when you guys comment I just can't handle it.

The silence was the worst part as he stayed down on the ground. Derek didn’t feel humiliated, no; he was too busy recoiling at the malice in Stiles’ voice. Was he really that bad? Derek had seen him with Allison and Cora, so he had _hoped_ that there was the faintest possibility that Stiles would at least try be civil towards him.

He’d given him time and space; he had done everything he could to stay out of Stiles’ way to reduce his discomfort. Even at breakfast, he would keep silent until someone spoke to him. The particularly painful part was when Lydia pressed her lips to his cheek, reeking of pleasure. He’d been so sure Stiles wouldn’t– and then Jackson had come in and his fears had disappeared, but the worry was still there. And now all Derek had wanted to do was show him how to protect himself which somehow ended in lying on the grass with the pain in his groin slowly disappearing.

No one said a word as Stiles walked away and the Captain appeared in his vision, holding out a hand. He pulled him up, staring at his son’s retreating form. “I guess I underestimated him.”

“Perhaps we all did” Derek sighs, watching Stiles walk away with a pang in his chest.

There’s a scoff behind him and Derek looks over his shoulder with raised brows at his younger sister. Cora rolls her eyes when she breaks his stare. She starts to walk away and as she moves past Derek she pushes his shoulder and all he can catch from her scent is her anger towards him.

Derek grabs her hand before she can get too far. “Cora–”

“Don’t, Derek.”

She shakes him off and starts towards the castle, and Derek follows her. “Why in hells are you angry at me?”

“ _Honestly_? You’re going to pretend like you haven’t done any wrong?”

“What _wrong_ could I have done? You’ve been avoiding me for almost a week now, how am I supposed to know what you’re punishing me for?”

As soon as they enter the castle Cora turns and shoves him back again the door, her eyes flaring gold. “Perhaps it’s not me that you’ve wronged. Did you ever think about that, brother?”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“I’m talking about _Stiles_ , you useless pile of horse shit!”

“I haven’t done _anything_ to Stiles, _idiot_.”

“That’s the whole point! Did you ever even take a moment to _think_ –”

“Excuse me?”

“–no, of course you didn’t, because you _don’t_ think, not once, that someone _hates themselves_ because the person they love finds out that they were forced to fuck people for a living and now can’t stand to be in their presence!”

“ _What_?”

“You heard me!”

“Stiles… Stiles doesn’t _love_ me, Cora. Did you not just witness how my ass got handed to me?”

Cora frowns and her eyes shift back to their usual brown. “He _does_ love you, he told me himself.”

Derek can hear the steady beat of her heart and he presses himself against the wall to stay upright. He can’t help the desperation in his voice. “I– you’re serious?”

“Why would I joke about that?”

“Because I thought he _loathed_ me, Cora. I stayed away from him because I thought it would be easier for me to cope with rather than losing him entirely.”

Cora looks away from him, taking her hands off of his chest as her eyes flick back and forth. “Did you say anything to him when you found him in the chamber?”

“I told him I loved him,” Derek says as he shakes his head. “But he can’t– I was there, I know that he doesn’t–”

“Oh, Derek… He remembers you saying that but he thinks it was a dream from the fever–”

Derek closes his eyes, trying to push away his urge to find Stiles and never let go. There was no doubt that Stiles would try to punch him after what had just occurred. Derek sighs, trying to think of something that will help him reason with Stiles.

There was nothing he could do without making it worse.

“Maybe I can try explaining to him…”

“No. Stiles needs time. If there’s anything I’ve learnt, it’s that he needs time to calm down. Doing anything now will just upset him.”

“Derek, he’s had nothing _but_ time–”

“I’ll handle it. Trust me,” he says. “Maybe I just need to let him kick me in the balls a few more times.”

Cora laughs and Derek smiles at his little sister, drawing her in to a tight hug. “Please don’t hurt him anymore,” she whispers.

“I’d sooner cut off my own arm.”

 

 

Derek was walking through the stacks of the library after supper trying to find the most recent trade reports when he hears his uncle’s footsteps coming closer. He walks right passed Derek however, further on to where Derek can hear Stiles’ heartbeat.

He hears Stiles’ sigh before the turning of another page. “I suppose you won’t get straight to the point this time, Peter?”

“Perhaps. I heard about what happened this afternoon. The castle is practically buzzing.”

Stiles doesn’t reply, but Derek can imagine him going tense. He would try and put himself where he could see Stiles, except that would give him away. He had to be careful, especially with Peter knowing he was nearby.

“Have you considered my offer?” Peter asks.

“Have you considered that you don’t get something from nothing?”

“What’s your price?”

Derek feels the growl in the throat at the words and he has to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from letting a sound out. For all Derek knew it could be another misunderstanding like with Lydia. Not that Peter needed help to seduce anyone.

“Information.”

“On what?”

“That depends, Peter. Do you think I’m willing to put myself in a room half full of people who have most definitely fucked me?”

Derek had to dig his nails in to his palm at the idea of Stiles going in to Court. He would never be able to predict the outcome and he wouldn’t know what Stiles came across unless he forced himself to attend as well.

“Harris has never given reason to believe he was prostituting children, so I don’t see why–”

“Was there ever talk of a whore with gold eyes?”

“That was _you_?”

“So you _have_ heard of me. Good to know.”

“What else hasn’t my sister told me?”

Derek let out quiet hiss of his uncle’s name that only Peter would hear. She wouldn’t say what she saw in Stiles’ memories to anybody except the Captain, and those notes had been thrown in the fire as soon as they had been read.

“I presume the fact that he kept the fresh dead bodies of my friends would not have been made aware.”

Derek has to swallow the bile in his mouth at the thought and even his uncle had paused. “What sort of information do you need?”

Stiles pauses and then Derek hears the thud of a book being shut. “I want you to find out if Harris knew who I was supposed to be.”

“That can’t be all you want,” Peter muses. “Surely there’s something more?”

Stiles is quiet for a long time before Derek hears his chair scrapes along the stone floor. “I’ve read a lot about this place, Peter. I know you are the Queen’s Shadow and if there is one thing I can guarantee, it will be that I can destroy Harris without having to touch a hair on his head. Are we clear?”

Peter laughs, and Derek retreats further back in to the stacks as Stiles leaves the library. His uncle’s footsteps come closer before he appears in Derek’s view and casually leans against the closest shelf, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Will you be his knight in shining armour or shall I?”

Derek bares his teeth at Peter and lets out a growl, only causing his uncle to smirk at him. “Oh relax; I never looked good in that pile of metal anyway. It suits you much more.”

“You can’t make him go to Court,” Derek warns. “He’ll be in danger.”

“Clearly this afternoon taught you nothing, then.”

Derek gives Peter an exasperated sigh, letting his eyes flash gold. His uncle’s shine blue in answer. “Don’t test me, Peter.”

He gets an eye roll in response. “I just think it will be priceless to see the looks on their faces when they see him.”

“So you would torture him for your own amusement?”

“Mmm, no. I’m going to torture Harris for Stiles’ amusement instead. Well, I say torture. I mean kill. Slowly and excruciatingly painfully. You know how it works.”

“As much as I would love to see Harris pay for what he did–” Derek starts.

“I won’t stop myself this time, Derek. I may not have gotten to Katherine for killing my brother in law, but do not try to stop me from avenging someone else that I love.”

“You love Stiles?” He grits out.

“Just as I love you,” Peter nods. “Harris will die for your pain as much as he is dying for Stiles and Claudia. Don’t forget that.”

“ _My pain_?”

Peter’s face falls and he trails a finger over the dark wood of the bookshelf. “Do you remember Paige?”

“What about her?”

“Do you remember why she and her family moved away?”

“Because she was to be married to someone else since birth, I know. We made our own choices but that doesn’t mean I was hurting. We were young and foolish; I was but a boy when that took place–”

“You were also a younger boy when your intended supposedly died during his fifth winter.”

Derek stares at his uncle, shaking his head in stunned disbelief. “No, no that can’t be true.”

“I sometimes wonder to myself if Stiles would still be the man he’s becoming if he wasn’t taken. But perhaps you were meant to be separated until the time was right. ”

“And now? When he won’t spare me a thought because he thinks I detest him?”

Peter draws his hand away from the wood, seeming forlorn as he begins to turn and walk away. “Maybe the time still isn’t right. The gods work in ways we can't understand.”

“I love him, Peter” Derek murmurs, knowing his uncle can still hear him. “How can the time not be right?”

Peter pauses just out of sight, and he sighs quietly. “I wish I had the answer for you, Derek. I truly do.”

 

 

The wind moving through his pelt felt exhilarating in the thrill of the hunt. Stalking through the underbrush of the forest, he followed the scent of the prey. In the distance, a deer was taking a drink from the stream, completely unaware of the predator sinking lower to the ground, just watching. He couldn’t seem to make himself take that last step, to leap forward and tear into the creature’s neck.

It was something he’d done so many times before, but this time he couldn’t make himself take the life of something so beautiful.

There was a snap of twigs under his foot just as Derek was about to retreat, and the deer’s head shot up, eyes flicking back and forth over its surroundings before they finally came to rest on the wolf.

There was something not quite right about the animal, how it stood there as if it had known it was being hunted. It had no fear as it stepped closer to him, hooves pressing down in the dirt. He couldn’t do anything but stay crouched on the cold ground, his eyes glowing gold to warn the deer away. It tilted its head and Derek was struck by how familiar it seemed and he let himself lean forward and nuzzle at its face.

The deer made a soft sound and pressed its forehead to Derek’s. It’s eyes stare in to his and Derek feels something tug in his gut, his instincts telling him something wasn’t right and that he needed to flee, but he couldn’t look away from the eyes which seemed so familiar.

One of the deer’s ears twitched and it broke Derek’s gaze, head snapping up to stare in to the forest around them. And then Derek could hear it, the snap of a twig before the twang of a weapon releasing and he could do nothing to stop the speeding arrow from embedding itself in the creature’s gullet.

A loud whine escape his throat as the body fell to the floor and Derek was naked and human again, his hands covered in blood as gasping came from beneath him. He looked down, frantic to try and draw any pain from the dying creature, but it wasn’t the deer that faced him.

Stiles lay there, trying to gasp for air against the blood beginning to pool on the forest floor; the silver arrow sticking through his throat with the Argent seal–

Derek woke gasping and everything was too bright as the tears streamed down his face, fangs digging into his lips and his claws buried in the blankets. His thoughts roamed wild at the nightmare, and he knew it had to be a sign from the gods. He had to find Stiles. Derek pushed himself up and let his feet lead him across the cold stone floor, along the halls until he was near enough to Stiles’ quarters that he could hear his heartbeat.

Calm and steady and asleep.

 _Alive_.

Derek heaved a sigh of relief and let the rhythm put his mind back together after the vision, swallowing down the tightness in his throat. Derek knew what had to be done now, that his uncle was right. Harris had to die before the Argents and their allies could get to Stiles.

He didn’t even bother to put on shoes before he climbed down the stairs and out in to the dark of the night, moving quickly through the grounds before he comes to the grating that leads down in to the cavern.

Derek couldn’t risk the posted guard telling his mother or Stiles’ father, but he needed to know.

He pulled it open, dropping down in to the blackness and letting his eyes shift and filter through the darkness of the prison.

Derek crept through the dirt and the empty chambers, until he saw Harris huddled against the corner of his cell. Kali was nowhere in sight, most likely being kept separate from each other.

“Harris,” Derek whispered.

The man stirred and turned his head, his cold eyes standing out as they tried to search for him in the darkness.

“Who’s there?”

Derek didn’t answer, using the dark to his advantage. Harris started to crawl towards the edge of the bars, trying to see anything at all. As Harris turned away Derek reached through one of the gaps and sunk his claws through the skin of his neck, memories flooding in to Derek’s head as he tried to sort through them all.

_The rage as he climbed the stairs, the pain he felt as Derek crushed his wrist–_

_His fist slamming in to Stiles’ face, how good it felt seeing him bloody and bruised–_

_Each crack of the whip and how it made his body grow warm as his skin tore, the bones tearing through his pale skin–_

_Argent sends him a look across the room, her eyes like ice as she demands he solve the problem with the wolves–_

_Stiles asleep and wrapped around Erica’s body, protecting her from the wandering hand that reaches out and trails along his arm, his boy, his prize–_

_Kali shoving him, calling him a traitor to their cause, Deucalion is blind as if Harris cared at all for his sight. He can make it up to him easily–_

_Deucalion is standing in front of him, Kali glaring beside him. “I give you my word, this whore is something else. A gift from the gods. He is the ripest of all my fruits–”_

_There’s a small body lying lifeless under a younger Stiles’ body, his hands withdrawing from around his neck. But he’s already walking away as Stiles’ tears fall, a satisfaction in it all until later the boy storms up to him and claws at his face–_

_Erica’s blonde hair bunched in his hands as he forces her to watch Stiles strapped to the pole as the whip comes down, the boy’s laughter filling the space as he begs for more, daring them to keep giving him the lash, blood dripping down his body and staining the podium with even more of its colour, such a sacrifice–_

_A young Erica cutting Stiles’ hair out by the fountain, cutting away his locks for the very first time–_

_“Witchcraft,” the priest says, passing a child over for a sack of gold. The blonde curls will do him well; will be as enticing as Stiles for his customers–_

_Her body is writhing in sheets as a tiny Stiles cries out for her, trying to figure out what to do to help–_

_Following Claudia through the halls after she had come back alone from the Second, the tears still falling fresh from her eyes–_

_There’s screaming coming from the sleeping boy, Erica crying as she restrains him in her arms until Stiles wakes–_

_Bony hands reach to spill the powder in the wine, offering it later to Claudia as she stands firm in the council, threatening to disrupt everything he’s worked towards–_

_He pushes her door open, seeing her cough up the first signs of blood. His work with her is done, just one more thing to solve, where is supposed to find that loose end–_

_A young boy with moles scattering his face and Claudia's necklace, a woman with dark hair as he hands her over the money, his thoughts that yes, this, this is how to make Stilinski pay–_

Derek pulls away, trying to get the images to stop replaying themselves in his head. Everything he had seen, there was so much pain he never even felt from Harris’ end of things, it was too much for him to cope with as he stumbled out until he reached the grate, the power in his legs shifting as he jumped up and through the hole in the ground, far too high for anyone except a wolf who knew where it was to escape.

The fresh air hits him suddenly and he’s gasping for the clean air to chase down the taste of bile in his mouth, but nothing can stop the memories and Derek falls to his knees and heaves as he empties his stomach on the cold ground. Derek stays like that for a while, head pressed to the dirt while he waits for his body to stop revolting against him.

Eventually he feels calm enough to start moving, turning to press the iron grate back into the ground, slowly making his way back to the castle to clean himself up. Before he knew it he was back in his room, tossing and turning as his mind echoed with someone else’s thoughts and memories, ones that made him want to claw at his skin and tear in to Harris’ flesh as if it would remove the things he saw.

It’s morning but it feels like an age, the light of dawn marking the start of the day for the staff. Derek tears himself out of bed, his hands still shaking against his will.

He sits at the table for hours with his head buried in his hands, exhausted from the long night.

“Derek, you’re up early,” the Captain says as he sits down across from him.

“Yes, I… I couldn’t sleep,” Derek says quietly. “I had a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not in particular,” Derek answers, not even trying to entertain the idea of telling the Captain that he pictured his son die by an Argent arrow.

His mother is next and her fingers combing his hair back gently from in where it rested on his forehead. She sits next to Derek and his mouth works against him when their casual words prove to be too much to sit through.

“Is it true that Stiles and I were intended?”

The silence feels like it will never end as they both avoid his eyes.

“So it’s true?”

“Who told you?” His mother asks gently.

“Who do you think?”

Talia sighs, looking at him and nodding. “It's true, but not the way your uncle tells it. I still remember how fascinated you were with Claudia's swollen belly,” she laughs quietly, sadly. "That was before Stiles was born, Derek, when there was a chance the babe would be a girl and able to produce and heir. But he wasn't, so we decided to break the deal and let you both choose like John and Claudia had."

Derek bites down on his retort. They didn’t know, they couldn’t know what he’d seen to make them move quicker; Harris wasn’t due to be searched for a few more weeks.

The door opens and his uncle walks in, eyes immediately zeroing in on Derek. The twitch of his eyebrow causes Derek to close his eyes and turn back to the table, trying to block out the assault of images. He has no idea how his mother can cope with the entirety of Stiles’ in her mind when even the select information was too much for Derek to endure.

Peter must have been able to tell there was something going on, because as he sat down at the table, he remained quiet until it was Stiles who walked through the door.

“Harris knew who your son was when he took Stiles,” he says casually, loud enough for Stiles to hear him.

Derek pulls his head out of his hand, looking over at him. His eyes are wide and his face is pale, his hands trembling as he curls them in to fists by his sides. Rather than turn his back and storm away as Derek expects, Stiles sits, staring down at the wood and not reaching out for any food.

Derek understood now. More than he ever could have before, more than he originally realised he wanted to. Even if he couldn’t stand the memories, he knew what he needed to know.

“You searched Harris?” Talia growled in warning.

Derek stilled, knowing they would hear Peter’s lie, but he merely smirked.

“You couldn’t expect me to wait forever.”

Derek relaxed minutely, though he couldn’t keep the tension out of his shoulders as his eyes darted back to Stiles, not caring for anyone else in the room.

“Peter, we agreed–”

“I got the information you wanted, Talia. Now let me do my duty.”

Talia grimaces and looks between them all and Derek watches them carefully. “Fine. Do what you feel is necessary. I’ll deal with Kali before the hunt next week.”

Peter nods and shares a look with Derek before he reaches for his food, and Derek looks back over to Stiles.

Stiles’ eyes are closed and his fingers are gripping his hair tight and his heartbeat is going wild, but Derek can’t catch anything except the twisting panic and satisfaction and relief he’s obviously trying to control.

Stiles doesn’t touch any food the entire morning.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would've been up at the end of this week but I had some sort of virus or a migraine and it was horrible and I've been vomitting so I needed something good in my life and you guys are just about the best. ALSO spot The 100 quote.

Derek tries to pay attention to the Lords talking about the alleged bandits along the trade routes, but it just feels like its droning on for hours longer than it should be. His mind has been everywhere since morning, before that even, thoughts set solely on Stiles. A chair scraping along the stone floor gets his attention, looking around to see the lower council members rising.

“Derek, may I speak with you please?” His mother asks before he can escape to the hall.

He nods and remains seated, unclenching his hands from the fists he hadn’t realised they’d become.

“How are you coping?”

“With what?” He asks, relaxing as her hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

“I think you know exactly what,” she sighs. “Despite what my brother says, I know that he wasn’t the one who searched Harris.”

Derek closes his eyes and rubs his hands over his face, trying to chase away the tiredness that was overwhelming him. “How did you figure it out?”

“Laura had the same expression when she first tried it as well, even if hers weren’t the wretched things you had to witness.”

Derek groans and grits his teeth at the flash of bloody memory he sees behind his eyes. “How do you deal with it?”

“Any way you can.”

“I can’t go and peel Harris’ flesh off layer by layer though, can I?”

Talia lifts her sons face up and smiles sadly at him. “If you want to go and watch Peter do it I’m sure he’d let you.”

Derek doesn’t even consider it before he shakes his head, lip curling in disgust. “I don’t want to be like them–”

“I know you don’t, my boy. You’ve always had a soft heart.”

“I still don’t understand why you say that,” he denies.

“Derek, you’re my child. I’ve seen you from Stiles’ mind as well, and believe me when I say that what you did was the right thing. Perhaps not the best results, but that was hardly your fault.”

“Mother–”

“Would you have told him?”

“I was planning on it eventually, yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he had a right to know.”

“And what then? What if he avoided you like he is now?”

“I would have tried to give him the space he wanted. It’s what I _have_ been doing. The last thing I want is for him to feel like he’s being pressured to be with me because of who we are, if he ever wanted to be with me.”

Talia smiles, nodding her head. “That’s what I mean, Derek. You want him to be comfortable and you want what’s best for him, even under the possibility that he could never want to speak to you again. I searched Kali myself and she knew fully well that Stiles no longer smelt like the whorehouse. They might not have known Stiles’ parentage but she still knew he wasn’t owned, and still tried to force Stiles.”

“What are you going to do to them?”

“I’m stripping their status while Alan and Marin will bind their powers. I'd like to keep my eyes on Deucalion for a while longer, so to speak. After that, the wolves can deal with Kali for what she did.”

“You’re throwing her out for the hunt?”

“I’ve already discussed it with Allison. It’s better for their death comes from by our hand than by an Argent one.”

“Can she make a decision like that? What about her father?”

“Her father agreed upon her stay that all Argent matters be discussed with her. She’s to be their next leader when she decides she is ready. This is just another part of her training.”

“What–”

“Go talk to your friend. She mentioned something about wanted to speak to you before the hunt.”

Derek knows his eyes flash at her words and Talia kisses the top of his head. All he can think about is the dream, with its silver arrow embedding itself in to Stiles’ throat.

 

 

Derek follows Allison’s scent to the library, only to find it devoid of any life. Not even Stiles was there, though his instincts told him it had been recently abandoned as the two scents mingled and down the stairs. He follows the trail until he reached the room where Court is held, laughter and insults being shot back and forth in the usually empty room.

It was next scheduled for after the hunt, the last full moon of the summer months.

Derek tried to avoid it when he could, except this time it seemed like he’d have no choice in the matter if he wanted to keep an eye on Stiles in a room full of people who had the opportunity to hurt him.

With a sigh Derek pushes the door open, only to be greeted with the sight of Stiles with one hand on Allison’s waist and the other holding her hand, while Peter kept repositioning their stances or hand placement.

“Derek, nice of you to join us,” Peter said even though his back was turned to the door.

He sees Stiles tense but he still steps in, sparing a glance around the room. Boyd shrugs at him from where he stands by with Laura, just watching the proceedings together. Lydia was nearby as well, sharing a look with Cora from where they were waiting.

“I was hoping I could steal Allison for a few minutes? I had some things to discuss with her,” he gave her a pointed look and she nods, both moving away from Stiles.

Once they were outside the door she held her head high.

“I know what you’re thinking–”

“Do you?”

“ _Yes_. You think I’m not handling Kali properly. You think that I should let her live, after _everything_ she did to him. What she's done… Stripping their status is enough for the ones who hadn't touched him, but not her. Do you think I’m being drastic? Think of what they did to Stiles, if anything else. Surely that should be enough for you.”

Derek was silent, and when she finished he huffed a quiet laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” He shakes his head. “I wanted to thank you. You’re going to be good at this.”

Allison smiles hesitantly. “I need to prove myself, Derek. To my family and to my people and to your people as well, and this is how I do it. Blood must have blood.”

“I understand. I just thought that maybe the hunt was a little harsh.”

“Why?”

“Have you ever been on one?”

“No, I haven’t. My father wanted me to have my first with your family, to understand what it meant to your people.”

Derek nods. “It can get intense. With the wolves out in the forest… You’d be surprised by how instinctual it can become. We haven’t had a hunt in a long while, and there’s no question that she won’t be torn to pieces.”

“Your mother invited Stiles along as well,” she smiles hopefully.

Derek’s face falls and he digs his nails into his palms. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He seriously debates not saying anything, but he knows what he saw couldn’t be ignored. If it _was_ a sign from the gods, Derek had to tell her; otherwise he wasn’t sure if he could ever trust her even when he wanted too. If she hurt him–

“You promise none of this will leave your mouth?”

“I swear it.”

Derek takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, scared more than anything. “I think I had a sign from the gods.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I had a dream where… Where I was a wolf, and one of your family arrows killed a deer.”

He opened his eyes to see Allison’s confused face, shaking her head minutely. “I don’t understand–”

“The deer was Stiles, Allison. When I turned back, so did he, and he–”

“Derek, look at me,” her voice commanded. He looked back to her and she took his hands, unfolding his fingers to wear they had dug in to his skin. “Stiles is my friend. You know I would never harm him.”

“But–”

“Do you know what my family words are?”

He nodded his head. “We hunt those who hunt us.”

“ _Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent_ ,” she smiles. “Not only that, but Stiles is human. I would never hurt him even by accident, which it would be never because not only do I have impeccable aim, but I’m more afraid of the McCall’s wrath than yours.”

“He hasn’t talked about them much.”

Allison shakes her head. “He misses them. Erica especially. I was going to take him and Isaac to see them when he was fully up to strength. Boyd will probably want to come as well.”

“When is that?”

“If he joins us on the hunt I’m sure he can manage the Second.”

Derek nods, feeling like his stomach is falling out from under him. “If he leaves…”

“I’d bring them back with us, Derek. I’m going to wed Scott even if my family damns me for it.”

“Thank you,” he says with a sigh, not knowing what else to say. His head is pounding from the lack of sleep and Allison smiles gently.

“Go get some sleep, you look like shit.”

He starts to step away, only to turn back when another bout of laughter sounds from the room.

“How is he doing?”

“He has two left feet but apart from that he’s doing fine. He’ll have it by the end of the week.”

Derek opens his mouth but she cuts him off.

“Go and rest, Derek. He’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Derek goes for a run in the forest with Boyd and Laura later in the week, feeling like he could crawl out of his skin with how slowly his days seemed to be passing. He hadn’t had any more dreams, but his nights were still restless with the knowledge that Stiles would be involved in the hunt. He knew that objecting would just make Stiles push harder to join, even confronting him would probably lead to more harsh words.

So he lets himself shift, wanting to know he can trust himself in his skin for when the hunt comes in a few days’ time.

His paws dig in to the dirt as he runs, catching sight of plenty of rabbits, birds, deer and even several boar before eventually coming up to the den of the wolves that care for the forest. His tail wags, having not seen them since they had their cubs and avoided the palace grounds and he’s greeted by wolves jumping on him from their excitement at his presence.

He scents them, burying his nose in to their coats and then rolling over for the cubs to play with, the young wolves tugging on his tail and ears as their pack greets Laura and Boyd when they reach the den, both standing on all fours.

Boyd snorts at seeing Derek, but he just lets his tongue hang out of his mouth with a pleased expression on his face. Laura rolls her eyes and turns to the pack, nuzzling them happily and letting her eyes glow in respect when the oldest wolf greets her easily.

The cubs soon turn their attention to Boyd when Derek gets nudged by some of the others, following them to the creek and grooming each other before getting filthy again when Derek slips in the mud, cueing another round of jumping around through the dirt on the way back to the den.

Laura let out a sigh when he comes back, covered in mud and dirt and burrs no doubt littered through his coat.

They walk back, rather than run, collecting their clothes at the edge of the garden. Derek only pulls on his pants, his chest covered in too much dirt to really be acceptable to put clothes on after, following Laura and Boyd as they talk excitedly about how healthy the cubs are looking, picking the prickles out which had remained in Derek’s hair.

He hears his name and he turns, looking over to see the Captain smiling at him and Derek makes his way over.

“Captain,” Derek greets easily.

“Did you have a good run?”

“We did, yes. The cubs are doing well and there should be plenty of game for the hunt.”

Stilinski nods, walking with him and seeming like there was something else on his mind. He was quite for a long while, until Derek finally spoke. “Was there something you wanted to discuss?”

The Captain nods. “Yes… Although I’m unsure how to phrase it without insulting you.”

Derek looks at him with concern, waiting for him to speak. His senses were still normalising themselves after his run, so the sounds of the castle louder in his ears than usual. There was one sound that was still louder than the others; something Derek had made certain he was attuned to when he was still unsure if Stiles was even going to survive the night.

The steady thump helped calm him and he relaxed even under the Captain’s heavy gaze.

“I'm aware how you feel about Court and I know you believe it’s an unnecessary performance…”

“But…?”

“I want you to attend, after the hunt.”

Derek nods, biting down to avoid his smile. “I don’t think I’d be able to get away from this one even if I tried.”

The Captain frowns. “Did something happen?”

“It was implied you son would be attending. I just want to make sure no one says anything to upset him.”

“Ah,” he says. “Well, I’m glad we see eye to eye on this.”

Derek frowns and looks over his shoulder, hearing the beat of Stiles’ heart come closer. “I actually wanted to ask you about the hunt,” Derek admits when he turns back to the Captain.

“What about it?”

Derek fumbles for something, anything to keep him there until Stiles found them.

“About whether Stiles will be joining us?”

“What will I be joining?” He asks as he comes around the corner, eyes darting between them wearily.

“Derek was just asking about the hunt,” the Captain says easily.

Stiles comes up to them, standing next to his father as he glares at Derek.

“What about it?”

“Whether you were joining us or not,” Derek replies, taking in his features.

Stiles makes a face, but then his eyes trail down Derek’s unclean chest and Derek has to look away before he starts to flush under his gaze.

“I was invited, wasn’t I?” His tone is hard and Derek tries not to flinch.

“You were, but I just wanted to know if you had decided.”

“Why not ask me yourself?”

This time Derek does wince, floundering for an answer that won’t end in Stiles walking away, when the Captain unsubtly coughs and draws both of their attention. “Perhaps Derek wasn’t sure if you would accept his company.”

Stiles pauses and Derek catches the new scent of guilt in the air. “Oh…”

“I should go,” Derek says hastily. “I need to get cleaned up.”

He starts to move away and Stiles’ heartbeat jumps. “Derek–” he calls, words failing him as Derek turns to look at him. “Um… I _was_ going to join the hunt, but if you don’t want me there…”

Derek feels a smile break out on his face before he can fully hide it. “No, I think it would be fine if you came. You can meet the cubs.”

 

 

The night before the hunt everyone retires just after dusk, excited for the next day. Derek can never get rid of his pent up energy that anticipated the hunt, where he would be surrounded by his family and the wolves, running through the forest and bringing back the spoils of their day. So instead he usually read well in to the night.

He was in the middle of turning in when he heard a faint noise, something out of place that made his stomach turn with unease.

Derek considers putting his shirt on but he hears it again, louder this time, and he follows his instincts until he hears the too fast beat of someone’s heart. He sees his mother come out of her room as well, disturbed by it, and soon Laura and Cora appear in the hall too.

He follows the noise, which is soon followed by whimpers that stir in Derek’s memories.

When Derek reaches the staircase to the next level, the whimpers turn in to screams and Derek knew they were coming from Stiles. He runs as fast as he can, throwing the door open to reveal Stiles asleep and writhing in the sheets, screaming out as his heartbeat gets wilder in his panic.

Derek doesn’t pause, rushing to the bed and to Stiles like he saw Erica doing in Harris’ memories, grabbing him and holding him tightly to his chest to restrain him, trying to wake Stiles from his nightmare.

“ _Stiles_! Wake up!” He shouts. “ _Wake up!_ ”

Hands start to scramble at Derek’s arms, and Stiles’ screaming dulls down as he begins to rouse. He’s shaking in Derek’s arms, but his heart starts to calm down as he holds on to Derek tightly. “That’s it, just feel me breathing, you’ve got it,” he says gently, pressing Stiles’ back to his chest.

He looks up to see his mother and sisters at the door, and he shakes his head at them. His mother grimaces but allows Laura and Cora to pull her away, casting anxious glances over their shoulders.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, it was just a dream…”

He can hear Stiles sobbing and he holds him close, afraid to let go.

Once Stiles calms down enough he tries to shift in Derek’s arms and Derek lets go quickly, reminding himself that Stiles is still angry with him. He begins to move away, to let Stiles get back to sleep but Stiles grabs his arm, shaking his head.

“Please don’t leave,” he whispers, and Derek’s heart breaks.

He nods, moving back across the bed and closer to Stiles, who holds his wrist tightly. “I’m not leaving, okay? Not if you don’t want me too.”

Stiles nods quickly, lips trembling as he tries to smile but can’t quite seem to make himself do it and Derek reaches out for him, cupping his face as gently as possible.

“I’m here, for whatever you need. Just tell me,” he says, quieter than before. “Please, Stiles.”

Stiles won’t take his eyes off of Derek, keeps flicking them over him and back up to his eyes like it’s to reassure himself that Derek is real. “Stay with me. Just… Please will you just hold me?”

Derek nods, letting Stiles lay them down on the bed and curl Derek’s arm over his body. Derek shifts closer, pulling Stiles back against his body and Stiles sighs and slides his fingers through Derek’s, pressing his palm over his heart. “I forgot to take the tonic Deaton made for me.”

“What did you dream about?” Derek asks softly, drowning on the smell of Stiles so close to him once more.

“Everyone,” he whispers, and that shouldn’t make sense to Derek but it does, he can see it in his mind and he drags Stiles impossibly closer to his chest.

It’s silent and Derek feels himself drifting off to sleep, wrapped around Stiles and his scent. He opens his eyes, trying to keep himself awake to say the words he’s been meaning to for so long. “I’m sorry,” Derek murmurs. “I never should have let you think I could ever hate you.”

“You weren’t dreaming, you know.”

Stiles doesn’t respond, and Derek kisses the back of his neck.

“I love you.”

Derek frowns when he’s still silent, craning his neck to look over Stiles’ shoulder and see his face, and Stiles’ face is slack in sleep. Derek smiles to himself, shaking his head and looking around the room, frowning when he sees that the sun has begun to rise over the treetops.

He huffs a quiet laugh, resting his head back down on one of the pillows, closing his eyes again and let the beat of Stiles’ heart lull him back into a light sleep.

Derek sighs when he feels Stiles’ body shift against his, just like so many of his dreams, but this one is different, seems so much more real as Stiles presses himself against Derek’s body and hums happily to himself. Derek’s hips press against Stiles and Stiles lets out a breath, then a whisper of Derek’s name. Derek lets out a groan as his hand trails down to Stiles’ stomach, inhaling and getting a nose full of Stiles and their scents mingled with arousal, so much better than what he can usually capture–

Derek jerks himself backward when he realises it isn’t a dream, opening his eyes and yes, he’s really in Stiles’ bed, seeing Stiles jerk forward with the same moment of awareness and looks over his shoulder with wide eyes, mouth slack with shock. “Uh…”

“I should go–” Derek starts at the same time as Stiles.

“You should go–”

They both stare at each other before Derek forces himself off the bed, his cheeks heating at the way Stiles’ eyes drag over his body. “We need to get ready for the hunt.”

“Yeah. _Yes_. Good idea, _great_ idea, I’ll… I’ll see you at breakfast,” he says awkwardly, still looking at Derek’s chest before his eyes dart back up to Derek’s and he starts to blush.

“I’ll just–” Derek gestures over his shoulder, retreating back to his quarters as quickly as possible. Once his door is closed behind him he leans back on it, thumping his head back against the wood in embarrassment.

 

 

The hunt was one of the best they’d had in years, the forest thriving and rich in life as they played with the pack and took down their prey. The screams of Kali had rung in his ears even though he was nowhere near the scene, instead trying to focus on showing Stiles and Allison what the hunt was about. They had fit in seamlessly, the pair of them bringing in plenty of rabbits as well as a boar, and quite a few birds from Allison. Both had shared uncertain looks when Talia suggested that they greet the pack, but they soon recovered when one of the cubs rubbed itself along Stiles’ legs.

Derek had also noticed Stiles’ eyes on him when he began to strip his clothes at the edge of the garden, his breath catching when Derek had fell down onto his four legs. Derek trotted up to him as a wolf when Stiles was on the ground of the forest, pressing his nose to Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles had even smiled at him when Derek flashed his eyes gold to let Stiles know it was him, stroking his fingers through Derek’s pelt. There had been wonder and something else Derek didn’t want to name, but he had lead Stiles through the woods to show him how the wolves hunted.

Now Derek was human and scrubbed clean within an inch of his life, dressed ridiculously in his tailored [cotehardie](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pNGwkG3J6_4/UfgCHgSqFcI/AAAAAAAABrA/AuZRPjoq1Y0/s320/gofpurple.jpg), the deep green of the heavy velvet sash overlaying and standing out against the silver and green flowered patterns. The crown atop his head pressed uneasily against his skin, the gold being thankfully smaller and less grandiose than Laura’s.

The gold crown on her head looked like they could be teeth rather than claws like Derek’s one, her long dark hair tumbling down over her shoulders and down her back. Both were smaller than the one their mother had to wear, and both of them glared at Cora when she approached them wearing a circlet and a smirk, her [dress ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/3a/08/58/3a0858f0671e0d959694bffc2f51dab5.jpg)hazel like her eyes with a translucent covering of her neckline and arms, flaked with gold trims all across it to match the ones on the dress, a link to the colour of her wolf eyes. She could get away with wearing whatever she wanted as the third child, and she knew it too.

Laura looks as stunning as Derek knows she always is even when she decides to put effort in like she has to do for when the Court for a ball. The deep red of her [dress](http://img3.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20100831093428/merlin1/images/7/76/Morgause_in_a_Red_Dress.PNG), of being both alpha and heir, commanded the attention she deserved, strips of the fabric encircling one arm while giving way to the gold beading threaded itself through her own clear covering of both arms and breast, a similar pattern around her waist.

Both looked incredibly nervous, as they all tried to avoid Court as often as possible, if not just to stay hidden from the gossipers and hangers-on, which was almost all of them.

Talia, when she arrived and greeted them in the waiting room, was dressed in [black ](http://41.media.tumblr.com/44ef21d1518393cf5d9ea2cc0e75c239/tumblr_nijts7stoB1sj0db5o1_1280.png)with red embroidery patterning the simple base, formality of the being Queen, widow, and alpha to her people. Her neck was covered, as it would stay without her husband. “I’m sorry to ask this of you three,” she said quietly.

“It’s about time we all attended anyway,” Laura said with a sigh. “At least it was over something meaningful.”

Derek held his sisters’ hands as they waited, finally being called out once almost everyone had arrived. Talia entered first, followed by her children with their heads held high as they went to stand by their seats, remaining upright as Talia controlled the attention of the room with a well-practiced ease.

“As you know, tonight we are gathered to celebrate the successes of the hunt. I’m sure you’ve all heard rumours from your connections that there has been strife in the palace. I will help dispel those rumours now. Warrior Kali has been taken in to custody several weeks ago, and has been dealt with accordingly for her crimes.”

There were murmurs from everyone as she paused, but they tapered off in to silence quickly.

“The Lord Deucalion and Ser Ennis were stripped of their rank this morning. They were responsible for the knowledge of pain against an Innocent in my kingdom. Lord Adrian Harris has been arrested additionally, for his ties to the treason he helped create, along with the murder of my husband, the murder of Lady Claudia of the Stilinski family, and the multiple counts of slavery and attempted murder on both my family, the only Stilinski child, and the families living in my territory. He will be dealt with in time.”

Everyone was silent and Derek waited for his mother to give them permission to sit down. They sat gracefully while she remained upright, a smile now on her face. “We have several guests of honour tonight, I’m sure you will all do your best to make them feel welcome.”

The steward  announces his uncle and Lydia, walking in with her hand resting on Peter’s arm, hair twisted and curled to the very expectation of her usual perfection, flowing over her bare back as the [dress ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/c4/18/00/c41800b3e186620c94bac29915bc1f29.jpg)plunged down her neckline, the brilliant blue etched in gold leaves. Slits at her sides gave way to her pale skin before it was cut off to the rest of the dress, blue and demanding as the rest of her. Her smile was simpering as she looked over the crowd, their eyes following her as she took her seat.

“Lady Allison of the Argents,” the steward called.

There was a definite pause as Allison came down the steps, her dress making everyone halt as she held her head high like the leader Derek knew she’d become. Her [dress ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/54/6b/55/546b55c23ea7d05514e2083d7e11a22e.jpg)was of her own family’s style than anything Beacon had to offer, folds and layers decorating her front and her hips before giving way to the sleek fabric, while her chest was decorated in a fabric like his sisters’ dresses, the translucent yellow material draping over the solid material, leaving her arms bare but allowing for beads at the notch of her throat as they bunched in a familiar decoration in various parts of her dress.

She smiles at Derek as she takes her seat, the steward’s voice standing out once more. “Ser Captain Stilinski of the guard, and the recently reunited son of he and his late wife–”

The steward paused, his eyes widening as they stared down at the page, but the Captain leaned forward and spoke quietly with the man, for them to turn back almost immediately and let out a name that was in no way Stiles’.

The Captain steps forward, his arm held out for Stiles to take. They step down the stairs and Derek’s heart feels like it’s in his throat when he sees Stiles with his chin up and a slight edge of fear in his eyes.

He’s in a loose white [shirt ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/e1/37/80/e13780e07fe78106b6cb1519c964107a.jpg)that looked far more comfortable than what Derek was wearing, brown leather pants held by a belt that Derek wanted to get his hands on, as well as a dark, almost green, leather jacket that had gentle presses of rose and flower patterns in a lighter brown. And there, hanging above his shirt, out and open for the world to see, was his mother’s necklace. It was simple, but it was so much of Stiles that it made his heart ache to continue what happened when they both thought that they were dreaming.

Derek was apparently not the only one thinking such things, because the room was flooded with various scents that made him want to choke. Fear, lust, and anger were the most common of the smells and it made Derek want to flee the room with Stiles in tow. As they took their seat, so did Talia, and so much conversation filled his ears that he could scarcely hear Stiles’ heart beating. After eating, Derek was dragged down to the floor with Laura, starting the first dance of the night.

As the band began to play smoothly into their next song he noticed that Allison had dragged Stiles out into the middle of the floor as well, a pleased smile on her face as Stiles danced with her, not mistaking any of his steps. Cora took Derek’s hand next, as was custom for him to dance with his sisters before ignoring everyone else completely, smiling at the hushed comments she made as they passed people.

When it was over, Cora kept his hand in her grip and dragged him over to Stiles and Allison, looking pleased with herself.

“Allison, care for the next dance?” Derek asked with a smirk, and she curtsied back on one foot and bared her neck before taking his hand. As they started to walk away Stiles said something to Cora, who laughed and pushed his shoulder before they started to dance as well.

Eventually people stopped gawking and plenty of others joined the dancing too, and Derek returned to his seat to watch the proceedings, smiling to himself whenever Stiles laughed with something one of his friends had said. He made his way over to Stiles later in the night when he was just finishing with Lydia.

“Why Prince Derek, don’t you look ravishing tonight,” she grinned.

“Hello Lydia,” Derek sighed.

“I’ll let you get to it then,” she smirked and walked off to find someone to no doubt influence.

She was becoming the next Shadow, no doubt about it.

Derek turned his gaze back to Stiles, who was watching Derek with a strange look on his face. “Would you care to dance with me, Stiles? Or should I try and mangle the pronunciation of your birth name instead?”

“I’m assured it was my grandfather’s name.” Stiles took the hand that was held out to him, rolling his eyes with a small shake of his head. “How long do you have to wear that thing for?”

“Longer than I would care for,” Derek scrunches his nose like he’s still thinking about it.

Stiles laughs softly, looking down at their feet before frowning. “Which of us is going to lead?”

“Why don’t you lead, seeing how I’ve had to do this far longer than you.”

Stiles looks back up at him, his bright eyes crinkled at the corners. He steps in time with the music, his hand on Derek’s waist, though Derek wishes that his hand was lower, gripping harder, and Stiles had that same look on his face again.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just… You look nice,” he pauses before he makes a face. “I mean, you look regal. Like an actual prince.”

“Is there a way I’m supposed to dress?”

Stiles tilts his head to the side, lips turning downward in a mock pout as they finish their dance and start to make their way over to where their parents are talking. “I guess not, but this is definitely what I expect when I hear your official title.”

“It’s the crown, isn’t it?” Derek deadpans.

Stiles starts laughing, drawing the attention of several people before he smiles at Derek. They’re intercepted before they can reach the Queen and the Captain, one of the Lords stepping in front of their path. He smells strongly of wine and his eyes are glassy as they pass over Derek, unrecognising, before halting on Stiles. Derek notices a change immediately, how Stiles’ face goes blank and his eyes look slightly dead as he retreats into himself and strategically hides half his body behind Derek. He’s about to dig his nails in to his palm when a soft hand captures his, fingers linking together as he looks at the man who no doubt knows who Stiles is.

“Can we help you?” Derek asks coldly. “Because we were just on our way to see my mother.”

The man sneers and keeps his sight straight at Stiles. “How much coin would you ask for now?”

Derek steps forward but Stiles pulls him back behind him and Derek stares confused for all of two seconds.

“How much is your wife still disappointing you?”

The man goes frantic, reaching for Stiles but only grabbing the chain of his necklace. “You think this will protect you?”

“Let go of me.” Stiles struggles, but the man’s grip is tight.

“One day you’ll be out in the street, and everyone will be waiting just like we used to be–”

He doesn’t finish his sentence because Stiles’ fist meets his face before Derek can even get his raised, and the man falls to the floor and glares up indignantly at Stiles while everyone stops and turns to see the scene.

“ _Whore!_ ” the man cries, and that’s when the murmurs start in the room.

Stiles stares down at him before he kneels to the man’s level, letting that poisonous drip into his voice as it drops low. “You’re the one who paid to fuck me and I don’t remember you complaining then. Just know that if you come near me again, it will be the last face you see.”

The man’s face drains of colour as Stiles stands back up, taking Derek’s hand again. Derek was having a hard time trying not to find it arousing when it wasn’t directed at himself, but after his surge of instincts from the hunt it was difficult to suppress them now. Luckily they greeted their parents who had matching looks of disbelief and that brought Derek down quickly.

“Quite a show you put on for everyone, Stiles,” Talia says.

“In my defence, he approached me.”

Talia shakes her head in laughter as the Captain turns to Derek. “Would you might cleaning his hand up? He probably won’t do it himself.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “John–”

“Just to check, I’m not being overprotective.”

Even Stiles gave him a look that said he knew it was a lie. But Stiles let Derek lead him out anyway, his brow twitching only once as Derek wiped his knuckles down. “Would you like to join me for a walk?”

Stiles took his eyes of their hands, looking up at Derek’s face. Derek remained staring steadfastly down at their hands. “I would, I’ve got a headache from all that noise.”

Derek smiled to himself and nodded, taking him out to the grounds and then further to where the gardens were lit. They walked easily, not needing to fill the silence that hung over their heads. It was comfortable and Derek couldn’t the small private smile off of his face, only to realise that Stiles’ expression was that same look.

His heart clenched at the thought that Stiles was _fond_ of Derek as he was of Stiles.

“So excluding that minor inconvenience, did you enjoy yourself?”

Stiles looks over to Derek, squinting and shrugging only to break out in to laughter when Derek nudges his shoulder. “I did, surprisingly. Everyone looked beautiful.”

“Well I’m jealous that you got to wear that while I’m stuck in this for the rest of the evening.”

Stiles grins and bumps his shoulder against Derek’s, his hands beginning to retreat in to his pockets. Derek fights the urge to grab them and loses, catching Stiles’ fingers in one of his hands. Stiles looks at him steadily, giving nothing away.

“I was wondering… Actually I was more hoping that we could speak. Privately.”

“Right now looks private,” Stiles says carefully, looking around at the empty alcoves.

Derek nods, suddenly frightened at his plan as they enter one of the sections. _Gods_ , why did he let himself come to an understanding with everything about this man. He takes a deep breath.

“It’s just– ever since you knew who I’m supposed to be, I’ve been scared. Scared that I’d lost you forever, for not being able to tell you on our own terms, and this is coming from me when I was already afraid that you wouldn’t make it through the night with what was inflicted on you…”

Stiles is staring at him, eyes wide and weary, but his hand is still in Derek’s and he takes that as a sign.

“And I’ve done some _stupid_ things involving what I thought was best for you, like avoiding you because I wanted you to have the space you deserved without making you feel angry or awkward with me–”

“Derek–”

“So I tried to approach you as unattached as possible which lead to me having you rest your entire weight on my dick. It might not have been my brightest idea, but it knocked some sense into me.”

Stiles laughs, but its shaky and nervous and Derek can’t look away, can’t break Stiles’ gaze even though it looks like tears are forming.

“And I know I shouldn’t have but it wasn’t Peter who looked in to Harris’ mind, it was me, and I’m sorry to have to admit that to you but I think my uncle knew it was the only way I would pull my head out of my ass and stop letting you think I was avoiding you, because what I saw–”

Derek stops, has to clear his throat with how unsteady his voice is becoming, and he squeezes Stiles’ hand in his.

“If you want me to leave you alone after this, I will, I’ll leave you alone completely and never come near you again, but Cora told me what you said to her. That you thought you were hallucinating from the fever or dreaming entirely when you heard me say I loved you–”

Stiles starts shaking his head, trying to pull away. “Derek–”

“–please Stiles, just let me finish, just let me say this and I’ll go.”

Stiles stops, tears spilling over and Derek’s heart clenches, pulling Stiles’ hand up to rest under his collar on his neck where he can feel the steady pulse of his heart.

“It wasn’t a dream. I said it when I found you, and right now I’m just going to repeat what I said this morning because you were asleep then too and I didn’t even realise I had fallen asleep either, so… I’m sorry. I never should have let you think I could hate you. You weren’t dreaming, and I–”

His voice cracks.

“I love you.”

Derek lets go of Stiles’ hand, feels a chill run up his body despite his layers and normal body heat, feeling like all of it leaves him as his fingers pull away from Stiles’ wrist. He can’t look at him now, can’t even bear it, but when Stiles chokes out Derek’s name Derek looks back instantaneously.

He sounded so much like when he asked Derek to stay the night before and it breaks his heart but he looks at Stiles, the beautiful man that he loves and has fought so hard for everything, who doesn’t even give Derek a chance to brace himself as he wraps his fingers into Derek’s collar, pulling him forward and mashing their lips together in a frenzy as he scrambles to pull Derek close.

Derek’s breath leaves him as he reaches for Stiles and opens his mouth for him, the wet slide of Stiles’ tongue against his knocking him out of his daze, reaching out eagerly to grip Stiles’ hips and drag themselves together like they had almost done that morning, moaning in pleasure when Stiles tugs on his hair and makes him bare his neck.

“ _Gods_ yes, I love you, I love you so much, _Stiles_ ,” he whines as Stiles bites down harshly on his neck.

He can feel Stiles grin against his skin, nosing up his throat delicately and dragging his lips along his jaw. “I love you too,” Stiles breathes into Derek’s ear, his voice hitching as Derek tries to grind their hips together, moving to slot one of his legs in between Stiles’.

There’s a cough from outside the alcove and they jump apart, turning to see the awkward looking faces of his sisters, both who were looking in opposite directions.

“While I’m glad you two have sorted this whole thing out–” Cora starts.

“Mom wants you back inside. You have to wait until everyone is gone before you’re allowed to… Continue whatever it was you were attempting to do.”

Derek sighs in exasperation and Stiles smiles, pressing his forehead against Derek’s.

“We have all night.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

Stiles’ head was thrown back in pleasure as he rolled his hips on Derek’s lap, biting down on his own lip to keep himself quiet as Derek’s cock pressed inside of him. Derek gasped from where he lay and Stiles felt hands move to his hips, gently and cautiously. He leant down to kiss Derek, letting out a stuttered moan at the change of angle inside of him.

He had been so nervous about attending Court, especially after the thrill he felt at being in the hunt, at being surrounded by trees and by wolves. It had been an experience that he never wanted to forget, what he felt when Allison taught him how to shoot from a bow, how they took down a boar together and how Stiles’ heart raced when a huge black wolf approached Stiles and it’s eyes flared gold and Stiles just _knew_ it was Derek, out of all of them.

And he had slept so soundly with Derek’s arms around him that he’d forgotten he’d even had a nightmare when he woke up, instead pressing back into the strong arms he wished wouldn’t go of him, only to remember that Derek _was_ there and he’d scrambled out of bed before Derek could regret agreeing to Stiles asking him to stay.

In the garden Stiles’ heart had still been pounding from the confrontation of the man when Derek asked to talk. He’d been so afraid of what Derek would say, that that was it, this was Derek asking him to leave. He would have done it too, he would have left if Derek asked, but those words never came. Stiles been prepared to have his heart broken and he couldn’t stop his tears from falling, when he’d been so prepared to have nothing again, when Derek had pleaded with him and said those words he’d never thought were possible for someone to feel for him and for him to feel them in return.

Yet he did and he’d said as much, and now there he was in Derek’s bed just hours later, with Derek’s cock buried deep inside him.

The kiss was sloppy and desperate, but to Stiles it was perfect. Derek was perfect and he wanted Stiles, and for now that was all that mattered. As Stiles pulled away from the kiss, Derek followed him up effortlessly, chasing his lips and curling his arms around Stiles’ middle to keep him close.

Stiles smiles as Derek’s temple presses against his cheek before he wraps his legs around Derek’s hips and Derek’s breath catches at the change of position, his breathless moans causing heat to pool in Stiles’ belly.

“Derek,” he says quietly as he tries to draw his attention. Derek has to blink a few times before he focused on Stiles and Stiles couldn’t help how his smile grew. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m good,” Derek whispers as his eyes shine in the bright moonlight that lights the room.

“You can thrust now,” Stiles murmurs as he curls his arms over Derek’s shoulders.

Derek groans as he shifts forward, hips pressing against Stiles’ as he starts to move. Stiles closes his eyes at the sensation, tilting his head back with a sigh as Derek’s hands tighten around Stiles’ hips and fucks up into him.

“Stiles, your _neck_ ,” Derek whines against the skin, causing Stiles to shudder as his teeth brush along his apple.

He’s breathless as Derek skims his nose across his throat. “I noticed that. You can mark me, Derek. No one was– we weren’t allowed to be marked. We couldn’t work if we were–”

“I don’t want to hear about them,” Derek says quietly as he stops moving, pressing a soft kiss to the base of his neck. “You don’t have to be that person anymore, they can’t– they can’t hurt you anymore. I don’t want you to have to pretend.”

Stiles lets his hands trail into Derek’s head, wrenching his head back to look him in the eye. Those beautiful eyes that Stiles can’t ever seem to get enough of, eyes that drink him in as his fingers tighten in Derek’s hair. Derek groans and his hips twitch in response, and Stiles feels his heart swell when he realises Derek is serious about him not having to hide anymore.

“I love you.” Stiles whispers and even though it scares him, he knows it’s true.

Derek smiles and presses a kiss under his jaw. “I love you too.”

His movements pick up again and Stiles meets him with each thrust, tangled up in each other in the dark of the night.

Stiles cries out as Derek bites down on his neck, his blood pounding as Derek growls against his skin and thrusts harder, faster, when Stiles begs him, the noise vibrating against his skin.

“ _Derek_ –”

A whine escapes Derek as Stiles pulls his face away from his neck, a rush going through him when he sees Derek’s eyes glowing a brilliant gold.

“ _Stiles, don’t_ – don’t look–” he begs, trying to turn his face away.

Stiles holds him tighter, grinding his down and holding his face in his hands. “I don’t care,” he breathes. “You can’t hurt me.”

Derek whimpers, reaching up and resting his hand on Stiles’ forearm. He can see the sharp claws but Stiles doesn’t know why Derek seems scared, and then he realises that this, this is something Derek mustn’t want him to see.

“You’re beautiful no matter what you look like, Derek.” Derek’s eyes flare brighter as Stiles rocks down onto him, trying not to think about how it must be like his scars. Yet here he is, naked and open with Derek, his back to the open air. “ _Please_ ,” he gasps as he presses down on his prostate when Derek finally thrusts up against him as his teeth grow into fangs and his brow smooths over.

Derek’s jerks up into him, over and over, and Stiles is a writhing mess in his lap as he resists his own orgasm.

“Stiles,” Derek slurs over his incisors. “Stiles, I can’t touch you like this, _please_ –”

Stiles wraps his fingers around his hard cock and moans as he strokes himself, watching Derek watch him, how intently his gaze is trained on Stiles’ movements and Stiles moves faster, pushing himself closer to the edge before he cries out as he comes over their stomachs and his fingers. Derek growls and quickens his pace, becoming more erratic as he chases his own release.

Derek lets out a low groan as he spills inside Stiles, his body shuddering with pleasure as Stiles strokes his dark hair, watching as he slowly comes back to himself and his face is his own again.

“Come on, we need to clean up,” Stiles says softly.

“You smell nice,” Derek whispers against his skin, taking a deep breath. “Smells like us.”

Stiles huffs a quiet laugh as he climbs off of Derek, walking over to the water basin by his folding screen, wringing out the wet cloth and wiping his stomach and in between his legs.

He turns to walk back to Derek, but he’s already close, taking the cloth and wiping it over his own stomach before handing it back. Stiles turns and starts to wash the cloth, when he hears Derek’s intake of breath. “Stiles…”

“Yes?”

“Your back–”

Stiles pauses and he feels the soft touch of Derek’s fingers brushing against the hard skin of his lower back, and he closes his eyes. “Its fine, it doesn’t hurt anymore. It healed quicker than I expected it to but I suppose that was because I was unconscious for a lot of the time.”

Derek is silent as his touch becomes firmer, more sure, and it feels like he’s exploring the scars. Stiles lets him as his fingers sweep over the tough skin and then onto the softer undamaged fragments in between the marks, leaning back into Derek’s hold as his hands slide over his hips and wrap around his stomach as he embraces him in a hug and presses a soft kiss into his shoulder.

“Allison said she’s going to take me to see them tomorrow,” he murmurs, resting his head against Derek’s.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Stiles thinks about it, about how he feels safe in Derek’s arms, safer than he thought was possible, and he shakes his head. “No, I think Erica would probably attack the closest person near me. I was actually thinking of asking your mother if I could bring them here.”

“I think my mother would agree without hesitation.” He can hear the smile in Derek’s voice and it makes him all the more eager to see his family.

“Do you think Allison will say yes if Scott proposes?”

Derek hums as he kisses another bruise onto Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles can’t help his smile as Derek walks him back to his bed and lays him across from him, a smile touching his face as his eyes trail over Stiles’ front.

The days for Stiles to feel embarrassed by lingering eyes have long since passed, yet he still feels his cheeks heat under Derek’s gaze. They lie there for what feels like hours, fingers drifting over each other’s palms in the centre of the bed, and he knows he’s happy.

“Stiles?”

“Yes?”

“Would you… Will you marry me?”

Stiles’ stomach twists at the words, his voice catching in his throat from the shock.

“…Stiles, please say something. Please.”

He lets out a shaky breath, uncertainty making him blurt out words he’s trying to hold back, trying to get over his shock and surprise, but they twist their way through his mind even though he knows what he’s supposed to say, what he _wants_ to say. “Why would you want to marry me? You– you’re a prince, and I– I mean I’m just… I’m nothing.”

“Don’t say that.”

“What?”

“You’re not nothing. You’re _everything_ , Stiles, you’re intelligent and you’re passionate and beautiful and a _fighter_ and I wanted you from the first moment I saw you and I’ve wanted you every day since–”

“Yes–”

“And even if you were just an orphan that a kind innkeeper took in and not the son of my Captain, I’d still ask you–”

“ _Derek_.” Stiles interrupts, putting his hand over Derek’s mouth to stop him from speaking. His lips twitch as Derek’s words are muffled before they die off and he was stared at in apprehension. “Yes, I will. I want to marry you.”

When Stiles takes his hand away from Derek’s mouth, it shows his lips parted in surprise, the rest of him still staring in disbelief. Stiles’ watches in amusement as Derek finally processes what he said, and he surges forward and kisses Stiles tenderly, Derek’s tongue sliding into Stiles’ mouth in sweeping motions. He draws away and Stiles is left breathless, laughing as Derek shifts them around to tug Stiles close to him.

“Thank you,” Derek whispers against the back of his neck.

Stiles smiles as his eyes slide shut, feeling like he might be able to sleep peacefully without medicine if this was where he stayed. “I love you.”

 

 

Stiles meets Allison and Isaac by the blacksmiths, dressed in clothes that would be more suited for the colder months, except they were the closest he could find to pose as a traveller because his old clothes which had been thrown out from the tears and stains in them. 

Derek had kissed him before he left, and with a smile had said “I’ll see you in a few days.”

Stiles felt the reassuring weight of his knife in his pocket and Derek’s words behind him, excited to see his family. He hadn’t had time to ask Talia for her blessing, but he wasn’t thinking of that now as Allison led them through the stables and to the gap in the Wall. When they slipped through, they were surrounded by trees and she led them around the turn to the bridge by the river.

He felt a laugh bubble through him at being outside, around a place so familiar to him. Isaac lets out a sound of surprise and his face is a wide smile that Stiles was becoming increasing familiar with, and when Stiles looked to Allison he saw that her face was split open in a smile as she watched the pair of them.

Stiles barely noticed as they walked through the streets and he was practically bursting to break into a run as each step neared his home.

Except when it came to opening the door and let himself in, he hesitated, feeling like he was going to be sick.

“Stiles?” Allison asked, watching him carefully.

Stiles closed his eyes, counting his breathing until he felt the unease pass. He took a steady breath and opened his eyes, seeing both Allison and Isaac staring at him. “I’m fine. I’m just–”

“Me too,” Isaac says quietly, his jaw ticking briefly before he smiles again. “You can stand behind me if you want.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, following behind them as Allison pushes the door open.

Stiles directs them to the blind spot in the corner, where they take a seat and he watches as Melissa serve lunch with a blank expression. His stomach churns at the lack of smile on her face, and his gaze is drawn when he sees Erica’s blonde curls as she walks across the room.

He’s moving before he can think, walking near to her as she starts to clean a table. It takes him several attempts to find his voice and it’s as she begins to move away that he can, and even then it’s quiet and broken and longing for his sister. “E– Erica…”

She turns, obviously expecting a customer from her stance, but when her eyes meet Stiles’ her lip starts to tremble. “… _Stiles_?”

He nods, feeling tears prick in his eyes and all he can do is wrap his arms around her waist as she walks those few steps closer to him. “I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_ , I would have come sooner but I wasn’t– I wasn’t strong enough–”

Erica is sobbing and holding him so tightly and Stiles is afraid that if he lets go they’ll both collapse. “You– how did you get out, we thought you were _dead_ , I thought I’d never see you again–”

“It was Derek, Derek got me out–”

Erica’s sob cuts him off and he holds her tighter, when he hears Melissa’s voice before her arms envelope him too, and this he knows this, this is what family feels like.

Allison and Isaac come over to them when they break apart, Erica looking shaky and relieved but never letting go of Stiles’ hand. “Scott isn’t here, Allison,” Melissa says gently, just as relieved as Erica.

“I’m not here for Scott right now, but I’m sure I’ll see him later.”

“What happened, Stiles?” Erica asks. “And what in hells are you wearing, you look like a wanderer.”

“Palace clothes. My old ones were no good,” he answers quietly. “I– Derek is the prince, Erica.”

“ _What_?” She hisses.

Stiles nods, biting down on his smile. “He’s the prince, and he got me out, and Allison–”

“And Allison?”

Stiles glances at her and she nods tentatively.

“Allison is an Argent.” Erica’s eyes go wide and scared as she looks to Allison, who looks crestfallen. “She’s not a bad person, Erica… She– she’s just Allison, and Boyd is the next Captain of the Guard.”

Her breath leaves her and he squeezes her hand hard, hard enough to snap her out of the dazed look that was beginning to cross her face.

“There’s something else too, I– my mother never– she was already dead, she never sold me to Harris because she wasn’t… It wasn’t her.” He swallows, seeing the memory of her in his mind again. It was only a small thing, but Stiles knew he’d never forget it again.

“Stiles–”

“I met my father, Erica,” he says in disbelief. He still hadn’t even called John that yet, but he knew he could with enough time. He had time now, and he could scarcely believe it. “He’s the Captain of the Guard. He thought I was dead.”

Erica is speechless as she stares at him, when her face breaks out into a smile as she shakes her head. “Gods, you go your whole life thinking you’ve got nothing–”

“I know.”

“Stiles,” Melissa says slowly. “You need to tell Scott.”

Stiles nods and stands, but then Allison speaks. “I… When we knew it was Stiles, I tried to come and tell you that he was alive, but I couldn’t– I broke down. I should have done more but I was so worried–”

“Allison,” Stiles says quietly. “You did plenty. I wish they had known, but you gave me justice where they were concerned. That’s all that matters.”

She nods and smiles tightly, taking a moment to compose herself before she looks like herself again, and he’d be caught off guard by it if he hadn’t seen it on multiple people from the palace. Erica and Isaac stood as well, but Isaac moved slower than the rest.

“Isaac, you don’t have to come, you can wait for us.”

“No, I want to come. I need to say goodbye.”

Stiles nods and touches his shoulder as they walk out of the Inn, slowly making their way through the streets to fetch Scott from the blacksmith. The sight of the old forge makes Isaac tense up, but Stiles stays close while Erica goes inside.

He’s about to ask Isaac if he wants to leave when the door is pushed open by Erica, Scott following behind her when he takes sight of the three of them.

“ _Stiles_!” He rushes forward and tugs him into a hug, his pained sobs mixing with his laughter. “I knew you weren’t dead, _I knew it_.”

“ _Isaac_?” A voice snaps, and Scott releases Stiles to look at where the blacksmith has just emerged, looking livid.

Stiles is already moving to push Isaac behind him, but Isaac’s voice is strong. “I came to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? After leaving without a word, you expect me to forgive that? If I didn’t know that they took your little _friend_ here, I would have thought _you_ were the whore they arrested–”

“You have no right to speak to them like that.” Allison says, and to Stiles she sounds like Talia had when she’d spoken to the Court and he feels a shiver go through him. “Isaac earned himself his place as the Hale blacksmith apprentice, and Stiles is not yours to _step on_.”

“Be quiet girl, you’re not involved in this. Isaac, inside. _Now_.” Lahey steps towards them and Isaac steps back, shaking his head.

“I’m not going with you.”

The old man sneers and goes back inside and Stiles turns to check on Isaac, and Scott is staring at Allison with a hopeful expression on his face and Stiles smiles. “There’s still one thing I haven’t told you all, about Derek and I–”

He gets cut off when the forge door bursts open to Isaac’s father, storming towards them with a large tool and shoving them aside to grab Isaac.

Allison and Stiles are the first to recover, trying to grapple at the man and pull his hands away from Isaac, when Allison kicks his leg out and he’s taken by surprise, falling to the ground. They move Isaac away as he begins to shake from the fear.

“We need to get him back to the palace,” Allison orders as she checks Isaac over.

Erica looks at Allison and she laughs quietly. “You know, you’re not so bad for an Argent.”

Allison smiles and shakes her head, wrapping her arm around Isaac’s waist and her other hand reaching down to hold Scott’s.

“Argent?”

The voice draws their attention and Stiles grits his teeth as the man stands again, looking murderous. There’s no warning as he charges forward again, his strong hands throwing Stiles to the side to get to her, and Stiles realises how right everyone was, he was still so weak from his injuries–

“ _Allison_!” Stiles shouts as Lahey reaches her, too late to protect herself as she tries to push Isaac and Scott out of his focus.

He doesn’t see it happen but he sees her collapse to the ground, and Stiles is moving and getting in front of him before he can do anything more, shoving him back with all his might, and he hears Erica behind him. “Stiles, she’s alive, she’s just unconscious!”

Stiles feels the relief go through him but he’s losing his strength quickly, reaching down and into his pocket, pulling out his dagger. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he pleads.

Lahey laughs insultingly as he looks down at the silver blade. “What are you going to do, scratch me?” He mocks. “Argents took my wife and son from me!”

He reaches for Stiles, and Stiles moves as quickly as he can and his muscles burn with it and his ears roar as he does what he has to do. Stiles wants to stop as he feels the slight resistance against him, but he can’t now, they have to get Allison away but they can’t now, and he closes his eyes when he knows the skin breaks around the sharp metal.

Stiles pushes it deep and tries not to react when he feels Isaac’s _father’s_ blood on his hands, twisting the blade deeper into his stomach.

When the man goes slack against Stiles, he steps away with shaking hands, and he feels numb when he tunes back into reality. Lahey falls to the floor and Stiles turns, seeing Isaac and Scott staring at him in fear.

“Isaac–”

But he looks away from Stiles and Stiles feels the urge to throw up, when Erica snaps his attention. “ _Stiles_ , look at me.”

“I didn’t–”

“Stiles, I know okay, I know, but right now you need to listen to me, because you need to run.”

“You need to get Allison back to the Inn–”

“I will take care them, but _right now_ you need to run, this isn’t like Third, Lahey isn't a scavenger, he pays his taxes, he provides a noble service–”

Stiles nods and pulls his knife out of Lahey’s gut, moving inside and washing the blood away in the cooling barrel. No matter how hard he scrubs, he feels like the red is tattooed into his skin, damning him for this murder, the murder of his friend's father. Stiles' can't see beyond the red, can't see that he was protecting anyone, even if that's what he was doing, it was still murder, he was a _murderer-_

“Stiles?”

Stiles turns in a daze and meets Erica’s wide eyes.

“Grab your stuff from the Inn, I’ll met you outside the back–”

“Erica, _no_ –”

“ _We are in this together, Stiles_ , we always have been, just wait for me.”

Stiles nods slowly as she leads him back outside and trying to ignore the way his mouth fills with bile as he passes Scott and Isaac while Erica begins to get their attention. His skin starts to itch as he makes his way back to the place he calls home, jogging through alleyways until he reaches the back of the Inn, pushing his way through and to the room he shared with Erica, grabbing his pack and shoving clothes inside of it, and it’s as he throws his knife under all the clothes that he remembers the bags of coin.

He scrambles to lifts the floorboards up, laughing in a panicky relief as he sees nearly all the bags still remain. He packs three before he runs out of space, leaving the others under the floor and hurrying to close his bag when he notices his necklace is hanging out from under his clothes from all the commotion.

Stiles stares down at it, thinks of his mother and John, and _Derek_ , and all he can hear is the drunk man from Court.

_“You think this will protect you? One day you’ll be out in the street, and everyone will be waiting just like we used to be–”_

He feels like he's choking when he imagines the feeling of hands over him again, gripping and tugging with no care or comfort. He feels his nails digging into his palms as he tries to ground himself, tear him away from the memories but it's no good, it's like he's right back in the whorehouse, staring into the eyes of the man holding the necklace all over again. His back feels like its being ripped open all over again, with no one to save him-

Stiles rips it off from around his neck, staring down at it in his stained hands, this _thing_ that he wears so blindly and he can’t help but think that the man was right. He’s been hiding behind some mindless trinket this whole time, he never realised he was starting to let it define him. Stiles couldn’t get air into his lungs, like the lump in his throat was killing him as he remembered how much he’d done to keep it.

No more. It wouldn’t define him any longer.

Stiles drops in his haste to escape and some place with _air_ , dragging his pack behind him as he crashed through the back door and heaved in deep breaths, holding the air in his lungs enough to be able to force himself back to the task at hand.

He knows he should wait for Erica, but there’s an itch at the back of his mind, reminding him off all the reasons why he deserves this, deserves everything that’s happened. He tries to push it away, but then he hears the words of a guard back at the palace.

_“It’s for traitors and violent killers. No offence, but you don’t look like either.”_

Theres another onslaught of memories and he feels like his wrist is on fire again as he's branded and he can't do anything to stop it, like there's a red hot pain as his nails are ripped off, before they're bolted up above him, the sick memory of her laughter as he screamed when she sliced her knife along his body. He thinks he feels her claws trailing lightly over his throat once more and he can't hold back, he collapses to his knees as his stomach empties itself on the dirt ground.

Stiles couldn’t be locked down there, not again, and there was no way he was going to let Erica be locked down in that chamber, _he couldn't go back_ –

Stiles couldn’t wait for Erica.

It's what he tells himself, a mantra as his hands still shaking when he finally hikes the pack over his shoulder. He walks as lightly as he can force himself to through his trembling down the middle of the street, head down and refusing to pray to the heavens that he succeeds. They’re not getting anything else from him.

They’ve taken enough of his life.

He passes through both the gates and he feels like all eyes are on him, even though he barely receives a second glance as he leaves. He tries to hide his hands in his pockets, still seeing the blood on them even though they're clean. Stiles doesn’t think about waiting outside the city, he can't think about anything other than his fear and need to stay hidden, especially when there's a whisper in the back of his mind that he'll be turned in by two people he once called family.

 

 

Stiles walks along the side of the dirt road for miles, when finally he comes across a crossroads, just as the sun is starting to set and his body is aching all over. Breathing has gotten easier the further away he's gotten from the city, but his stomach feels heavy like it knows he's holding back his complete breakdown. He reads the sign with a shuddering breath as if he didn’t already know where they pointed. 

One was closer to the hills, and the other closer to the Argents.

He walks along the left road, wincing as his feet grow sore and tired. He knows he should stop soon to find cover and rest for the night, but he wanted to put as much space behind him as possible.

Stiles can hear the sounds of horses behind him and he almost breaks an arm as he throws himself off of the road to hide. He would have run except he can’t pick up his pace, and the thought of tiring himself anymore makes him want to cry.

Hesitantly he glances over his shoulder and what he sees isn’t a Hale on horseback, or even any guards. No, what Stiles saw was a trader and he nearly sobs in relief. He thinks back to the trading routes he’d read, but he couldn’t think of who this could be. They could still be his chance to escape from the prosecution that's been slowly poisoning his mind, making him believe that nothing will matter but punishing him. It's how it's always been, and Stiles can't make himself think any differently, if what they did to the Warrior Kali and for hurting him, what would they do to  _Stiles_ for killing a man?

It almost feels like he's back in the forest in the middle of the hunt, trying to ignore the echos of her screaming before she was silenced by the lone wolf howl in the distance.

“Excuse me!” He cries, trying to draw their attention as he moved back onto the road, making the horses rear from the sudden movement.

“Do you have a _death wish_?” The woman shouts as she reins her horses back, staring down at Stiles incredulously. “They could have trampled you!”

Stiles quickly took sight of her fine appearance, of her dark skin and black hair, but then his eyes were drawn to her neck where she had scars stretching across the skin.

His mind works slower than he'd like but he eventually manages to plaster on a smile that he knows is more of a grimace. “Could you give me a ride to the nearest city?”

The woman stares at him, before she snorts and shakes her head. “No. The nearest city is the Capital and I haven’t been back there since I got this,” she says with a gesture to her neck.

Stiles realises that was why she wouldn’t have been among the trade records.

“Were you attacked by an animal?”

“I was attacked by a man named Deucalion after he lost his sight during the war. You’ll have to walk,” she says, preparing to start moving again.

“ _Wait_!”

“ _What_?”

“I don’t want to go to the Capital. I want to stay far away from there, actually.”

“Then why ask?”

“I wanted to be sure you weren’t headed there. I have marks like yours,” Stiles says quietly.

“Oh really?”

Stiles nods, eyeing the horses as he approaches her. His heart feels like its stuck in his throat as he brings his hands up to view, squeezing his eyes shut when sees them drenched in blood. He opens them and feels like crying when it's still the same, except when he rolls his left sleeves up, the material isn't wet in any form. He takes a deep breath to try and steady himself to get to the bandage that he refused to remove, and he can't get a hold on the fabric with when Stiles is shaking like he is.

When he finally manages to get an edge loose, the cloth unravels away quickly and cleanly until the pink scar was visible, the crude brand raised and standing out against his pale skin.

He heard her sharp intake of breath before he started to cover it again, and he was still scared she’d ride off without him.

“Please, I have money, I can pay you, just don’t make me go back there–”

“Calm down. You buy your own food and you either get off at the next town or you stay and help me make my living, deal?”

“ _Yes_ , yes, deal.”

She smiled gently at him, helping pull him up onto the seat with her. “Put your bag in the carriage.”

“Thank you,” he breathes.

“No worries. What’s your name, kid?”

“Stiles.”

“Nice to meet you, Stiles. I’m Braeden.” She held out her hand and Stiles stares at it before he reaches out and watches his bloodied hand shake hers hesitantly and it brings another gentle smile to her face. “You’ll get used to other people eventually, no matter what that monster did to you.”

Stiles nods distractedly, barely comprehending her misunderstanding of his discomfort as he tries to wipe the red off of his hands onto his pants. He knows he should be feeling elation but there was that tug underneath that, deeper, something he couldn’t push away but couldn’t find words for or even hope to identify, that felt like his fear and panic but where the thought of Derek lay, of what he would say–

A wheel jolts over a rock and knocks Stiles out of his reverie, and he looks down to scrub his hands once more only to see his hands pale and clean of his crimes. He would laugh but instead it comes out as a quiet sob, and if it wasn't for that he wouldn't be able to believe he was here; out of the city, beyond just measly walls separating him from the others, he was here and out of his entire life.

He could be free.

For what felt _real_ for the first time in his life, he was almost free, and nothing else mattered.

Not his past or his promises, or even his future in Beacon, all that was being shadowed by the overwhelming weight he felt behind him.

He just had to escape.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you thought that was the end, right? There will be a sequel, but I wanted to focus on some of my other ideas first, so yeah, if you guys want to stick around, do that. :)
> 
> What a journey this has been, like wow. I just want to say thanks you guys for sticking with it even when I had too much going on to post, and for all the kind comments you've given me, I really appreciate it and it means so much to me! Thanks to Jess, Madison and Robynne, for putting up with my complaining the most. I love you guys really.
> 
> You guys can find me on [tumblr](http://kilaem.tumblr.com/)


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